


Protector

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Predator Trilogy [3]
Category: Alias, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Darkfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-26
Updated: 2006-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Predator</i> and <i>Perspectives</i>. Jim and Blair are kidnapped by a terrorist group.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story draws certain characters and ideas from Alias, but is not a true crossover. You don't need to be familiar with Alias to follow this story.

## Prologue

  


#### Cascade, June 2010

The lecture hall could hold a thousand people; it wasn't that full, but the lecturer had a respectable audience. The lecturer's voice was animated and enthusiastic as he spoke. At the back of the hall, a young man stood in the shadows near the door, leaning against the wall and listening intently to every word. No one took special note of the young man; he was thirty years old at most, more likely twenty five, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, slim and handsome. To a casual glance he was most likely a student who had wandered into this open talk and found the subject of interest. The only thing that detracted from this impression was the expensive handheld computer he carried, and it would take more than a casual glance to notice how very advanced the model was.

But the young man was no student. He was Julian Sark, international terrorist, purveyor of secrets and high-tech weaponry and general all-round bad guy; a title in which he took considerable pride. On this particular day, however, he was merely there to observe.

The lecturer - a Doctor Sandburg - paused in his presentation to take a few questions. Sark used the opportunity to open his PDA and tapped in a search, all the while keeping most of his attention on the lecture.

When the lecture came to an end, the young man blended easily with the crowd leaving the hall. From the inner pocket of his casual jacket he withdrew a wireless earpiece, sliding it over his ear. He tapped the screen of the PDA again and waited. After a moment, a woman's face appeared on the PDA's display. Sark stood to one side, allowing the crowd could move past him.

Sark spoke without giving his name, or any customary greeting. "I have some encouraging news," he reported. His words were precisely formed, the kind of English accent a man acquires from an Oxford education. "The late Mr Brackett was better informed than we thought. Sandburg's knowledge is too detailed to be conjecture."

He was quiet, listening, then said, "Yes, I have, but it may not be useful. Brackett and Sandburg have only one acquaintance in common and it's a man I don't believe we can use." He glanced back over his shoulder. "He's a convicted serial killer." His voice hushed as he spoke the name.

Behind him, Doctor Sandburg was just leaving the hall, surrounded by a small group of students like a gaggle of goslings.

Sark watched the professor surreptitiously. "I'll attempt to confirm the intel. Let me know how you want to proceed." He terminated the call without saying goodbye. From a careful, unobtrusive distance, he followed Sandburg.

***

## Chapter 1

  


#### Cascade, August 2011

There was a Cascade Police Department patrol car parked across from the driveway of the house. Blair frowned, wondering which of his neighbours was in trouble. He doubted it was anything serious; this was a quiet neighbourhood. The most exciting thing to happen around here since he moved in two years earlier was the time Malcolm's barbeque set fire to the marquee during his daughter's birthday party. Blair liked the quiet; it was good to come home to...well, to nothing. The rest of his life provided plenty of stress. Home was his haven, his escape.

Blair turned into the driveway and parked the car. Checking the rearview mirror automatically before he turned off the ignition, Blair noticed a man getting out of the patrol car behind him. An instant later, he recognised the tall, dark figure of Captain Banks.

Banks was only halfway across the road when he started shouting. "Where the hell have you been, Sandburg? I've been calling your cell for hours!"

Confused, Blair reached into his pocket for his cellphone. "No, you haven't..." he began and then saw that the display was blank. Sheepishly he thumbed the power button. Nothing happened. Oh. "Sorry, man, my battery's dead. What's up?"

Jim. It had to be about Jim. Blair knew today was the day Jim was being moved from the asylum back to prison. He had done everything possible to avoid thinking about it all day. A few years earlier a political pressure group that claimed to represent victims of violent crime in Cascade started campaigning for tougher sentences and harsher penalties. For some reason, a year ago they began to campaign against Jim Ellison specifically. He was an easy target, Blair supposed, a confessed serial killer. He was, the group claimed, living a life of luxury in hospital when he should have been executed years before. The campaign reached some powerful ears and it was true that Jim no longer needed hospital care. It was suggested that perhaps Jim should be transferred back to prison where he belonged.

Blair was worried about what could happen to Jim in prison. Jim worked so hard to get healthy and stable again. There was also the selfish objection: Blair would be unable to visit Jim as freely in prison as he could at the asylum. At the asylum Blair's status was almost that of a doctor. To the prison he was just another visitor and could visit only on designated days, and only in rooms where they would be physically separated at all times. All of that was normal for prison life and Blair knew it was appropriate punishment for Jim's crimes but he feared Jim needed him more than Jim thought.

Blair made his opinion about the move clear, but though he'd been willing to fight for Jim all the way to the state supreme court if he had to it was Jim who eventually overruled him and agreed to the move. So Blair kept his misgivings quiet and did his best to support Jim's choice.

He'd made it to the front door before Simon reached him.

"You haven't seen the news yet, I take it?" Simon said.

He seemed very grim and Blair shrugged. "No, I've been in a seminar all afternoon. What can I do for you, Captain?"

"We need to talk, Sandburg. Inside, please."

Blair didn't like the sound of that. He looked up, tempted to ask if Banks had a warrant for this intrusion, but something in the man's eyes stopped him. "Okay," he agreed.

Banks was wearing a grey trenchcoat over lighter grey pants and a casual shirt. As Blair unlocked the front door he noticed Banks draw the trenchcoat back a little, revealing the gun holstered at his belt. Banks opened the holster and let the coat fall back, but his hand hovered there, as if ready to draw. It made Blair extremely nervous. He opened the door and stepped back, making Banks enter first.

Blair followed him in and closed the door. "Enough is enough. What's going on?"

Banks turned to face him, fixing Blair with steely eyes. "Ellison escaped from prison today."

"No way!" Blair answered instantly. "Jim wouldn't..."

"I'm afraid it's true, Sandburg. The police escort failed to report any trouble, but they never reached the prison. We found both the prison bus and the police out on the road. We found the bodies. All of them, except Ellison."

"That doesn't make any sense," Blair objected.

"Right now we're assuming there were others involved."

"You mean someone attacked the convoy? Jim was kidnapped?"

Banks shook his head. "Let's sit down, Sandburg."

_ I don't want to sit down, I want to know what the fuck happened to Jim! _Blair swallowed the words with difficulty and pointed toward the living room. He stripped off his denim jacket, tossed it over a chair, and followed Banks. "Have a seat, he offered grudgingly.

Banks sat down on Blair's couch. "I don't know everything about what was found at the scene. It's not my case. I'll tell you what I can."

"You're wrong about Jim," Blair said stubbornly. "He wasn't happy about returning to prison but he agreed to this because he believed it was right."

"We know the bus went off the road. We know at least one other person was involved because the bus tyres were shot out. Our working theory is Ellison somehow got hold of a gun during the crash."

"You think Jim killed the guards," Blair said flatly. He knew that Jim would forever be judged a killer. Few people would believe he could change, but Blair knew better. Jim didn't kill those guards. Which meant someone else had. Which meant...

"We believe this was a planned attack on the prison convoy," Banks confirmed, "and we believe Jim knew about the plan."

"No _way_, man. I know him, and I don't believe it."

Banks shook his head. "I know him too, Sandburg."

Blair tried to see it from the cop's point of view. If Jim was planning an escape it made sense of his willingness to be transferred to the prison. The transfer provided the perfect opportunity. But it couldn't be true!

Banks went on, "Let's say you're right, and Jim didn't know the transport was going to be hijacked. It's still likely that when it was, he saw an opportunity and took it. You know how badly he wanted freedom."

"Jim didn't kill people," Blair insisted, but he could see Banks didn't believe him.

"Sandburg, I'm here because we believe Ellison might try to contact you. I want your permission to station an officer outside - for your protection - and to monitor your phone."

The suggestion made Blair leap out of his chair. "Jim isn't going to contact me. I have no idea what happened but he didn't leave willingly." He started pacing.

"Then you've got nothing to hide. Listen, Sandburg, I can get a warrant, but I'd rather do it this way. I think you're wrong about him, but if you're right then anyone associated with Ellison may be in danger. Either way, your cooperation will be appreciated. We need to find him, Sandburg. Ellison belongs in prison."

Blair nodded. "I know he does," he answered unhappily. "Alright, I'll agree to this for a few days. No longer, understood?"

Banks nodded. "Understood. May I look around the house, Sandburg? Just in case."

Blair rolled his eyes at Banks’ paranoia, but agreed to let him search.

***

It was nearly midnight when Blair finally went to bed. He watched the news reports for as long as he could stand the endless repetitions. Newscasters gave dire warnings about the escape of a serial killer, emphasising the great danger to the public. They broadcast aerial images of the crashed bus and police escort vehicle, camera zooming in on a pool of blood on the road while the anchor described the scene of horror with poorly-concealed relish. Then there was the "informative" rehash of Jim's crimes, with that stock photograph of Tania's beautiful smile flashed on the screen over and over.

Eventually, Blair called Stephen Ellison and learned he was under the same police "protection" Blair was. Stephen agreed with Captain Banks' theory, that it was possible Jim took advantage of a chance when it came. Blair, knowing the call was being recorded, didn't argue.

He considered calling Matt, but with Tania's face once more all over the news Blair thought he might be the last person Matt would want to talk to. If Matt wanted him, he knew Blair's number.

From the window, Blair saw the patrol car still sitting outside. He wondered what his neighbours thought of it. Maybe nothing. He shrugged and headed into the shower.

As hot water beat against his skin, Blair thought back to his last conversation with Jim. They talked in the small inner courtyard of the asylum where Jim was allowed to walk. Even here, he wore restraints: his wrists and ankles were chained, but not so much as to impede his movement. But here they could be alone and speak privately. The guards were there, but stayed at the doorway, always watching but not interfering. Jim had seemed a bit depressed, not very conversational, responding to Blair's careful questions with one-word answers. After a few attempts, Blair asked him outright what was wrong.

"Just this move, I think," Jim told him. "I'm not really looking forward to it."

Blair gave him a sympathetic look. "I think it's too late to change it, Jim. David and I would both have fought for you to stay..."

"No," Jim interrupted. "Chief, I didn't want that. I'm supposed to be in prison." But there was a deep line etched between his brows as he spoke, something dark hovering behind his eyes. Something Blair knew Jim would not explain.

Remembering that moment as he showered, Blair forced himself to face the possibility that what he'd seen was a plan to escape, that Simon Banks was right about Jim.

No. Just assume for a moment that Jim _did_ plan this escape. The convoy was attacked by at least one other person, more likely a team. That meant that Jim would have needed help from outside the asylum. But the only way Jim could have found such help was through Blair, or perhaps through Stephen. Well, Blair knew _he_ wasn't involved, and he quickly dismissed the thought that Stephen might be. Stephen loved his brother, but he believed he should be behind bars, believed it more strongly than Blair did, perhaps.

So scratch that theory. Someone _else_ planned this. Someone abducted Jim from the prison transport. But why? Blair couldn't understand what anyone would have to gain from this. None of it made sense. Blair knew only that he was scared. Scared for Jim...wherever he was.

***

The morning news revealed that Cascade authorities now believed that an armed force attacked the prison convoy taking James Ellison back to prison. Everyone on the convoy: driver, prison guards and police escort, was dead. The newscaster made it clear that this prison break was planned and executed by a ruthless and dangerous man. Blair shut off the television in disgust.

After a night's sleep Blair was thinking clearly. Despite his apparent concern, Blair knew that Captain Banks was not interested in protecting him. He offered “protection” because he wanted to keep Blair under surveillance. Blair understood that he was the logical prime suspect in this crime: he was the person closest to Jim. It meant that anything he said to the police was going to be viewed with suspicion. It meant that Blair was in danger...but not from Jim Ellison.

Jim himself was in worse danger. The media coverage would whip up a public hysteria and if Jim _were_ seen, the cops would shoot to kill. That was assuming Jim could get away from whomever had abducted him. The abduction still made no sense to Blair.

Blair would fight for Jim. He decided to fight before he even got out of bed that morning. But the battle would not be an easy one.

Before leaving the house, Blair took the precaution of sending two e-mails. Since he began working on a book about Jim, Blair employed a heavy-duty encryption program on his computer. It allowed him to send the e-mails without the cops being able to eavesdrop. The first he sent to a friend in the law department at Rainier. The second he sent to his mother. Then, feeling a little paranoid, Blair wiped all traces of the two e-mails from his computer, turned it off and headed out as if it were a normal day. Blair drove out to Rainier first, intending to arrange a few days' leave before trying to see Simon at the Police Department. He wanted to make sure at least someone believed that Jim didn't kill all those people, because if they all believed he did, the manhunt would end in Jim's death...if they found him at all.

Blair never reached the university.

There was a stretch of road on the way to Rainier that was wooded on both sides. Blair loved that short distance. The woods reminded him of the wilderness. It was his habit to drive just a little slowly along that part of the road. That morning, he automatically slowed down in the usual place. There were no other cars in sight in that moment so he slowed more, enjoying the peace of the morning. It was likely to be the last peace he would get for a while.

The four-by-four that hit him came out of nowhere. By the time Blair saw it, it was too late to avoid the collision. By reflex, Blair slammed on his breaks. Tyres squealed and he jerked the wheel to the side, forcing the car onto the verge. The car bounced as it left the road and ploughed into the grass. The impact threw Blair forward into the steering wheel and the airbag exploded into his face. Pain shot through his neck and back as he slammed back into the seat.

Blair stayed there, trapped between the airbag and seat while his heart thumped in his throat. He concentrated on breathing, just breathing, until his heart began to slow down.

Only then did he think about the other vehicle. Where was it? Was anyone hurt? He struggled to reach the door handle past the airbag.

As his fingers reached the handle, his car door opened. Blair looked up into the barrel of a gun.

The man holding the gun said, "Get out of the car, Doctor Sandburg. Very slowly."

***

Simon peered into Blair’s car, careful not to touch anything. The driver’s airbag had opened, presumably when the car went off the road. The car keys were still in the ignition.

"What have you found?" Simon asked as one of the crime scene team approached.

"As far as we can tell, Captain, the driver walked away from the vehicle unharmed. There's no broken glass, no sign of blood."

"There's a cellphone on the dashboard, and the keys are still in the ignition." Simon looked up and down the road. "Where could he have gone? Why leave the car without even taking his phone?"

Simon walked away from the car. The black tyre marks on the road showed the tracks of two vehicles. Perhaps the other driver had given Sandburg a ride and he simply forgot about the phone.

He shook his head. This was too much of a coincidence. The bus transporting Ellison to prison went off the road and Ellison went missing. Now the man closest to Ellison had been forced off the road and was missing. Simon recalled Sandburg's insistence the Ellison would never have planned to escape. He wondered if the professor could be right...or was this accident Ellison's work? The Jim Ellison he knew wouldn't have done this...

A decision made, Simon walked back to his car.

***

It was almost midnight when Naomi Sandburg reached her son's home. She did not ring the bell: he would be asleep, she hoped. She let herself into the house.

Immediately she knew the house was empty. An empty house has a distinctly different ambience from one which is occupied.

Her dear boy's message troubled her greatly. It sounded as if he were in some kind of trouble.

Though she knew she was alone, Naomi went through the house, checking every room. No one was there.

She hesitated at the bedroom door.

Blair asked her to do something for him, the thing that worried her so much. Naomi trusted her son, so even though she did not understand the request, she would do as he asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim woke, the smell of chloroform still clinging to him. Groggily, he began to sit up...and clapped a hand over his mouth as his stomach churned. He lay back, taking deep breaths to calm the urge to retch and as he began to feel a little better he opened his eyes. He expected to see the grey-tiled ceiling of the asylum infirmary, but he recognised nothing of his surroundings. As that realisation filtered through his drugged mind, Jim began to remember. He was supposed to be in prison. They were taking him from the asylum tomorrow...no, today...or had that been yesterday?

_ Damn it, concentrate!_

He swallowed, blinked and tried again. From the basics. He was lying on a bed. On it, not _in_ it. The ceiling above him was metal, painted with white glossy paint. He was wearing his usual clothing: white t-shirt, grey sweatpants. His feet were bare.

Jim risked another attempt to sit up. He moved slowly this time, inching into a sitting position then ever-so-slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness assaulted him. Jim bent over so his head was almost between his knees. After an endless time, the feeling faded. Then he was able to straighten, carefully, and take stock of where he was.

The floor beneath his bare feet was cold ridged metal. The walls were painted glossy white like the ceiling, but the paint was rough as if it had been laid down, allowed to chip and degrade, then been painted over again and again, without much care. The bed where Jim sat was a solid bench jutting out from the wall, made up with a thin mattress, white cotton sheets and blankets, not a duvet. There was no window, but the door was the most revealing clue so far. It wasn't the type of door you find in a normal building. This door had rounded corners and a seal all around it so you had to step over the seal to enter or exit. It was the kind of door you find aboard oil rigs or submarines: designed to keep water out if there were a flood or spillage.

Jim wondered how much time he had lost. Nothing he saw fit with his last memory, which was leaving the asylum for the last time.

***

_ The orderly tried to hurry him, but with the restraints in place Jim couldn't walk quickly. He had learned long ago not to complain about unreasonable demands. He simply tried to do as he was told. _

_ Jim wore steel handcuffs which were attached by a short chain to the heavy belt around his waist. A longer chain ran from the belt to his shackles, impeding his movement. Jim was led through hospital corridors which were quiet and mostly deserted. Jim’s senses felt dulled, as if he were encased in rubber._

_ For a moment, in that dull silence with the clinking of his chains the only sound, Jim was back in his nightmare, _ the_ nightmare, but he kept control of himself and of his senses. He could do that now. _

_ At the door to the outside, Jim waited while the orderly exchanged paperwork with the two prison guards. At last the formalities were over and the guards led him outside, one of them holding his arm. The second guard released Jim's shackles so he could climb aboard the waiting bus._

_ Jim sat down where he was told to sit, and the guard ran the chain through a metal fixture on the floor before re-locking the shackles. He fixed another chain to the handcuffs, chaining Jim to the rear of the seat in front of him, though this chain was longer, allowing him to move. _

_ The prison guard gave Jim a quick smile as he finished locking the chains. "Comfortable?" he asked. _

_ Jim looked at him, surprised by the question. The guard was young; Jim guessed he was about twenty-two, certainly no more than twenty-six. He was dark-haired, blue-eyed and trim. Jim could smell gun oil on his hands._

_ Jim said, "Isn't that against the rules?"_

_ "Being comfortable?"_

_ "Being polite to the prisoner."_

_ The guard sat down across the aisle from Jim. "I know who you are," he said, as if that explained it. _

_ "So?"_

_ "You killed Mr Kraemer." The young man's eyes tightened as he spoke the name. _

_ The _ Mr_ gave Jim a clue, but he asked cautiously, "What of it?"_

_ "I'm one of those he...tutored...you understand? I'm glad you killed him."_

I killed a lot of people, kid. _Jim looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Brent Kraemer was a paedophile: an abusive bastard who ruined the lives of so many children...Jim wasn’t even sure how many. It was hard to regret his death. Then he remembered the sound of a man trying to scream through layers of tape and cloth, the smell of burning flesh and gasoline. Jim remembered walking into the burned out apartment, barely able to keep his breakfast down with the memories replaying in his head. But he hadn't been the only one made ill by that scene._

_ He looked back at the young man. "What's your name?" he asked._

_ "Gavin Whitner."_

_ "Well, Gavin, if what I did gave you some kind of...closure, that's good. But I didn't do it for you, kid. I killed because I was addicted to death, and I thought I had the right." He raised his chained hands. "That's why I'm here."_

_ Gavin nodded. "I'm still glad you killed him." He stood. "It's a long drive and this thing is a real boneshaker. You'll be in pain by the time we arrive if you're not comfortable now."_

_ "I'm fine. Thanks." Exactly how comfortable was he supposed to be, chained to the seats? _

_ "Okay." _

_ Jim watched the kid's back as he walked away. _

_ As the bus began to move, Jim looked out of the window. A kind of tight mesh screen covered the windows, preventing anyone outside from seeing in, but from close to the glass Jim could see out well enough. He looked up at the cloudy sky and felt sudden agoraphobia. He hadn't seen so much open sky in years. _

_ Jim had no memory of his journey from the prison to the asylum, nearly a decade before. He thought perhaps he had been unconscious at the time. Most of his years in the asylum, he lived in a windowless padded cell and the window of the room he lived in since then overlooked a walled courtyard: his view was a brick wall. Before the asylum Jim lived on death row, his world defined by bare brick walls and iron bars. No windows, no sky. Jim's sight, if not his other senses, was not accustomed to the outside: a real world with sky and weather and an actual honest-to-god horizon. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the sight. He did extend his other senses out there, as much as he dared. It was easier than thinking about what would happen at the end of this journey._

***

It was with no surprise that Jim discovered the door was locked. He returned to the bed, sat down with his back against the wall and took a deep breath. He tried to relax, using the techniques Blair taught him. He closed his eyes and concentrated, sorting through everything he could hear, smell and taste on the air.

Taste was the first thing he noticed. A taste upon the air that was familiar, yet hard to place. It evoked pleasant memories: of surfing, of the lovely beach at Bali...the taste of the ocean. As Jim reached that conclusion, everything else he was sensing fell into place. The smells of diesel and oil. The hum and clank of machinery: an engine, a huge engine. Even his feelings of nausea and dizziness - not illness, or the after-effects of drugs, but the effect of the rocking of the water. Seasickness.

He was on board a ship!

Jim strained his hearing even further, trying to cut through the engine noise, seeking a dock or shore. Aside from the lonely calls of seabirds high above, he found nothing.

The inevitable conclusion made him curl up on the bed, hugging himself for comfort. Fear settled into his belly and he felt his hands trembling. It was too much.

Why was he on a ship? Jim remembered being on the prison bus. Had he reached the prison?

Fighting to clear the fog in his mind, Jim looked down at his hands. He had a sudden vision of blood on his fingers. A memory?

He clenched his fist. _Come on, damn you. Remember!_

He recalled gunfire, and...

***

_ ...being thrown off his seat as the bus turned violently to the right. Jim's helpless fall was checked by his chains and he cried out in pain as they pulled taut. Unable to control his movement, he slid into the space between the seats. He tried to grab onto the nearest seat but the bus swerved again, throwing him back against the window. The next instant he was falling forward as the bus came to an abrupt halt. _

_ Jim heard glass breaking._

_ Regaining some of his balance, Jim pulled on the chains, trying to free himself. A moment later he realised that was the worst thing he could do, unless his life were in immediate danger. He was a prisoner: if they thought he was trying to escape they would shoot to kill._

_ Sliding as far down into the seat as he could, Jim looked up cautiously in time to see the windscreen shatter under a hail of bullets. One of the guards began to stand, drawing his gun, and fell. A fountain of blood painted the roof and window of the bus. _

_ Jim ducked down behind the seat. It was his only shield. He could do nothing to help or to save himself while chained up like this. So he concentrated on freeing himself, blocking out the noise of gunfire and death. The chain at his wrists was long enough to let him reach down, but not for him to touch the floor. The fixture in the floor seemed a little loose; if he could locate a weak spot he might be able to pull free. _

_ Getting a firm grip on the chain, Jim braced his feet and pulled with all his might. He remembered Blair's advice about using his senses and consciously blocked out everything but the feel of the chain in his hands. He could feel the strain on the fixture, feel the minute adjustments as the chain slowly worked free under the pressure. _

_ A hand gripped his shoulder, shoving him back against the seat. Jim's eyes flew open and he found himself staring into the face of a man he hadn't seen before. The man wore black fatigues and Kevlar. He raised a gun, pointing it at Jim and Jim recognised it: a mini-uzi. This man meant business. _

_ The man gestured with the gun and Jim did what he thought the man wanted: he leaned back into his seat, demonstrating that he was still chained. The point of the uzi moved and a short, terrifying burst of gunfire shook the floor between Jim's feet. Abruptly, he was free. The man grasped the chain between Jim's wrists and jerked sharply. The chain came free of the seat. _

_ "Move," the man ordered curtly. _

_ Jim’s ears were ringing with the thunder of gunfire, deafening him temporarily, but the gesture accompanying the order was clear enough._

_ Jim rose warily and began to move forward. He felt the cold steel of the mini-uzi press into the small of his back. He moved forward, past blood-spattered windows. He had to step over the body of a prison guard and he recognised Gavin, half of his face missing, one dead eye staring upward. The sight made Jim retch and he grabbed for a seat to steady himself. His hand came away bloody. _

_ "Move," his captor repeated, shoving the gun into his back. _

_ Finally, Jim emerged into the daylight. He blinked, looking around._

_ "Eyes down," his captor snapped. "At the ground."_

_ Jim obeyed. That gun could cut a man in two in less than a second. You don't argue with a man carrying that kind of firepower. He had seen enough to know there were others, not enough to register any faces or details. _

_ A new voice said, "That's him."_

_ A hand on Jim's shoulder pressed him down. "Kneel."_

_ Kneeling in the wet road, Jim wondered why anyone would go to this much trouble just to kill him. He wasn't that important to anyone...was he? _

_ Then a damp rag covered his mouth and nose and Jim smelled chloroform, thick and inescapable. _

***

They killed everyone.

Shit. The implications hit Jim hard. So many innocent lives, gone because of him. Not his _fault_: he had no control over what happened, but somehow, because of him. Because his captors, whoever they were, wanted Jim. But why? What could possibly be worth so many lives?

There was someone outside the door. Jim heard the lock disengage and stood. Standing brought another wave of nausea but he recognised seasickness now and had it under control...more or less.

The door opened, two armed men stepped through and it closed. One of them Jim recognised as his captor from the bus.

The other man threw a black hood to Jim. "Put that on."

"Fuck you," Jim responded.

The two men were casually dressed: one in jeans and a sweater, the other in mis-matched military issue pants and shirt - the kind you can pick up in army surplus stores anywhere. Both were armed.

"Put it on," the second man repeated, emphasising the words by drawing his gun.

Amateur. If he truly meant to use the gun he'd be aiming it by now. Jim covered his head with the hood. It didn't cost him anything. The hood was made of wool, a weave open enough that it barely even obscured his vision - and wait-and-see seemed to be the best policy for him until he understood what was happening.

One of them grasped Jim's arm and they led him from the room. They walked along a corridor which was much like the room Jim left: metal floor, riveted metal walls with chipped paint. The staircase was steel, too, and it led to the deck of the ship. Jim couldn't look around freely because that would give away that he could see through the hood. But he saw enough to confirm his earlier guess: he was aboard a ship and they were a long way from land.

He was taken to a door, a cabin, and one of the men knocked.

Jim heard a man's voice say, "Enter." It wasn't an American accent.

The door opened and one of the men pushed Jim inside. They didn't follow. Annoyed, Jim reached up to remove the hood. He stared in surprise.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim's first impression of Julian Sark was of a young businessman, or perhaps a doctor. Sark wore a perfectly pressed grey suit over a white shirt with the oriental-style rounded collar that meant the wearer didn't need a tie. He stood up to greet Jim, revealing a slim build and a catlike grace in his movement.

"A blindfold was quite unnecessary, Mr Ellison," Sark said, offering his hand as if this were a simple business meeting. His accent was British. "I apologise for my men," he added and then, with the barest hint of a smile, "though I think you will understand why they are wary of you. You have a fearsome reputation."

Jim ignored that last. He had a split second to decide how to play this. "Thanks for the jail break," he said, "but I'd rather not shake hands." Touch - or at least, the touch of skin - was something Jim avoided.

The young man inclined his head, withdrawing the offered hand. "You are welcome." He gestured to a plush leather chair. "Please, have a seat."

Jim looked at the chair. There was a knee-high table between it and the chair Sark had been using, and there was a feast spread upon the table: bread, cheese, cold meats, several different salads, wine, fruit and more. It made Jim realise that, despite his seasickness, he was hungry. He resisted the impulse to sit, regarding Sark steadily. "I'd like to know what it's going to cost me, first."

Sark chuckled. "You impress me, Mr Ellison. I was expecting something quite different." He sat down, reaching for the bottle of wine. "Would you care for wine?"

Jim shook his head. "I haven't been allowed alcohol for over ten years. I doubt it would agree with me."

Jim watched the young man pour a glass.

"A shame. It's excellent." Sark swirled the wine in his glass, took in the bouquet, then took a sip. "Excellent," he repeated, then, with a gesture toward the table, "Help yourself."

"You're avoiding the question," Jim pointed out. He sat down and reached for a plate. Hunger gnawed at him and he wondered how much time he had lost. Though he hadn't noticed the hunger earlier this felt like he'd missed more than one meal. Perhaps as much as several days. He gathered some bread and cheese, thinking his stomach should be able to cope with that. Biting into the bread, he looked up into his companion's grey-blue eyes.

"I suppose I am avoiding it," Sark confessed, sipping the wine again. "There is something my employer hopes you will do for us. It is a task that requires your...unique talents."

Jim covered his questions with a smile, making his eyes cold and predatory. "Who do you want me to kill?" he asked. He doubted it was murder they had in mind; hit-men were too easy to hire. It was simply the first thing that came to mind when this man referred to his "talent". What else was Jim known for?

Sark shook his head. "All in good time. For now, all you need to know is we have a job for you. Relax and enjoy our hospitality."

"I want to meet your employer."

"Impossible. My employer is not on board. You'll deal with me."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Then tell me, do you think I'm stupid, or only desperate? Or is it that _you_ are both?"

Grey eyes met Jim's, eyes as cold and calculating as Jim's could be. A predator's eyes. He said, as if to himself, "I must remember not to underestimate you."

"That would be a good start," Jim agreed sarcastically. "I know you need me for something, because you've gone to a lot of trouble to bring me here. That means we can make a deal but don't pretend you've done me any favours. All you've done is exchange one prison for a new one. You - or your people - killed everyone in the convoy transporting me, didn't you? The feds will believe I planned my own breakout. That means there is nowhere on this earth I can hide and when they find me, they're going to execute me."

"You underestimate my employer's resources and, if I may say so, I think you _over_estimate the CIA. Mr Ellison, our offer is quite genuine. There may be a place for you in this organisation if you want it, or once your task is complete, we will take you anywhere you wish to go in the world, with a complete new identity and enough local currency for you to begin a new life. There are many places you can stay...beneath the radar."

"And if I'm not interested in killing for you...?" Jim began. He broke off, listening. A helicopter was taking off from the ship. It was the first evidence Jim had that the ship was within reach of land, though it was possible the useful range of a helicopter was much greater now than he knew. Thin evidence, then.

"We would have no pressing reason to keep you alive," Sark agreed. His tone was pleasant, as if they were discussing the weather. "I don't think we need discuss that yet. It will take us some weeks to reach our destination, Mr Ellison. You have at least that long to decide. In the meantime, I hope you will consider yourself my guest, not a prisoner."

Jim shook his head, but he wondered how far he would be allowed to push this. They had gone to a lot of effort to bring him here, so Jim knew he was important. On the other hand, until he knew why, what they wanted from him, he had to assume he was expendable. He appeared to have nothing to lose by playing along but the role wasn't going to be easy. He was a long time out of practice with this undercover stuff. Prison and the asylum taught him to lie, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep up the cool-and-collected act.

Jim set down his plate, not sure his stomach could handle much more. In fact, the sight of food was beginning to wear on him. He needed to get outside, soon. "A guest," Jim suggested, managing to sound much calmer than he felt, "is not kept barefoot, or locked in a cell the size of a toilet."

"You are quite right."

Sark's agreement surprised Jim.

"I said earlier that I expected you to be different. Since speaking with you I can see that our information about your mental state was frankly wrong. Given what we believed was your condition, my employer and I felt that a room as similar as possible to the one you left would be least traumatic for you. We expected you wouldn't be..." he paused delicately, "...entirely stable."

"Now you know better," Jim said.

"Anything you want, within the resources we have on board this ship, you can have, Mr Ellison. There's a stateroom ready for you, if you want it."

The man had an answer for everything, Jim reflected. He thought it likely that the plan ended with his death, or disposal. This man appeared to confirm Jim's guess that they wanted Jim as an assassin. It made a kind of sense: killing was what he was famous for, but in other ways it made very little sense. There were plenty of hired killers out there. Why go to the trouble of kidnapping a serial killer? The only thing Jim could think of that _ might_ explain it, was perhaps they needed a murder to appear utterly random. Use a convicted serial killer, allow him to be caught or at least identified doing the job, and as far as the local cops were concerned, case closed. No further explanation necessary. But even that felt too contrived. Maybe this offer was on the level.

Jim needed time to rest and think this through. It was too much information to process at once.

He answered, "A room with a view would be nice."

He expected that request to be denied, but his host answered, "Easily done. Anything else?"

Jim considered the question. If he was playing the role of a hired assassin, what should he expect to be provided? "If I'm going to work for you I need to get into shape. Do you have exercise equipment on board? Just weights will do."

"Certainly."

"Some decent clothing, a shower and a shaving kit. Soap and blade, not electrical. Oh, and I want the name of your _employer_."

Only at that last did the man shake his head. "I'm afraid that last is need to know, Mr Ellison. You don't need to know."

"_Your_ name, then."

"You can call me Mr Sark."

Meaning, Jim guessed, that it wasn't his real name. Well, it was better than _that blonde guy_. What good would a name do him anyway? Jim nodded, accepting it.

"I really did mean it when I said 'anything'," Sark added. "After so long incarcerated...would you like company? A girl?"

Jesus. The offer widened Jim's eyes and he wondered how the hell to answer _that_.

"Or a boy," Sark corrected himself.

Jim swallowed. "That's generous, but no. I _would_ like some seasickness pills, if you have any. I never used to get seasick, but I think it will take me a few days to adjust."

"Of course." Sark pushed an intercom button and Jim waited while he gave orders.

After a short wait, a man appeared to escort Jim to his new quarters.

***

With no hood or blindfold this time, Jim was free to look around. From what he could see, the ship was a private yacht, big enough for a hundred people at least. There was a helicopter pad at the stern. Jim was led up a flight of stairs, along an upper deck from which he saw absolutely no sign of land, not even a hint of where the ship might be, and finally to a door. His escort unlocked the door and opened it for him.

Jim stepped inside. He expected to be locked in, and waited until he heard the click of the key turning in the lock. He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes, and concentrated on just drawing one breath after another. Just that simple conversation took every ounce of control Jim had. He wasn't much wiser, but he was more sure than ever that he was screwed. Jim felt his body shaking. He sank to the floor, curling up into a ball. If he didn't let the reaction out, it might turn to violence. He'd learned that the hardest way.

After a time, Jim became aware of the sound of breathing. Not his own, but it seemed to be inside the room with him. Jim looked up, half-convinced he was imagining it. He used to imagine all kinds of sounds in the cell with him. Some were real, others...well, Jim was crazy, after all.

It wasn't a room, it was a suite. Mr Sark certainly kept his word. From where he sat, crouched against the door, Jim could see a luxurious living area with a couch, chairs, a coffee table, a sheepskin rug on the floor, and more. A shoulder-high partition separated the living area from the bedroom, and beyond that Jim could see an open door leading to what he assumed was the bathroom. Everything was decorated in shades of rich cream, yellow and gold. It was like an expensive hotel room.

Jim could definitely hear someone. Well, if it was an hallucination the thing to do was find it, confront it. He began to stand, pushing himself away from the door and the lock clicked behind him. Jim scrambled up quickly and was ready when the door opened. The man handed him a packet of pills. Jim remembered he'd asked for something for his seasickness and thanked the man. Jim slipped the pills into the pocket of his sweatpants, heading toward the bathroom for some water. Again, he could hear...someone.

_Was_ he imagining it? Jim would never again be certain of his own sanity. Would he always startle at strange sounds and smells? Would he ever know for certain if he was truly a sentinel, or just a deluded madman who should still be in a padded cell. Blair had given Jim the ability to _seem_ in control, but was he, really? Would he ever be?

He reached the partition between the living area and bedroom and stopped short. There was someone there. A man lay on the bed, apparently sleeping, and it was a man Jim knew.

Blair Sandburg.


	4. Chapter 4

You can't trust reality. Jim knew that.

It was possible Jim died when the prison bus was attacked and everything he experienced since was some kind of surreal afterlife. As a theory, it didn't help his situation much, but it made more sense than what he was seeing in that moment. Or perhaps he'd slipped his last cog in the asylum and failed to notice. He might be buried in a rubber room and everything he thought he was seeing and hearing was only his hallucination.

Jim grabbed onto the wall beside him, dizzied by that thought. It wouldn't be the first time... No, thinking that way was insane, Jim told himself, appreciating the irony of the thought. He tried to put it out of his mind.

Blair was supposed to be in Cascade. He couldn't be here. And yet, he was.

Jim felt utterly paralysed. It was as if moving forward would break the spell and make real what he saw. But he couldn't turn away, either, because if he did, Blair might vanish. Blair wasn't supposed to be here. Yet somewhere, buried deep under Jim's confusion and the fear that clutched his stomach and stopped his breath, he was incredibly glad to see Blair. Blair was his anchor; his presence made Jim feel a little less trapped.

Blair was lying utterly still on the bed. His breathing was slow and regular, as if he was sleeping, but the thick blindfold over his eyes prevented Jim from seeing for certain. He was on his back, arms stretched above his head. There were steel handcuffs on his wrists, the chain between them threaded through a hook on the headboard. Aside from that, Blair was nude. Jim observed signs of minor injuries: there were fresh bruises on Blair's chest and forearms and a small cut on his face, but there was nothing to indicate he had been seriously mistreated.

Still, Blair seemed incredibly vulnerable. Realising that required a big mental adjustment for Jim: _vulnerable_ was not a word he had ever associated with Blair.

Even then, Jim felt rooted to the spot.

"Who's there?" Blair said suddenly. His body remained completely still but his voice was filled with fear.

It was that fear which reached through Jim's paralysis, moving him forward. "Jim Ellison," he answered.

"Jim? I don't understand!"

"That makes two of us, Chief," Jim said gently. Finally collecting himself enough to examine the room, he saw a key beside the bed. Jim took the key and sat down on the bed beside Blair. He tried the key in the handcuffs, careful not to touch Blair's skin. The cuffs opened and Blair moved quickly, yanking the blindfold away from his eyes. He looked up at Jim and Blair's confusion was a mirror of Jim's.

A second later, Blair seemed to realise he was naked, because he grabbed the comforter beneath him, trying to pull up enough to cover his privates.

The gesture made Jim twist around to face the partition, giving Blair some privacy.

Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "Don't you dare turn away from me! What the fuck is going on? What happened?"

The unexpected touch sent a near-electric shock through Jim's body. He gasped, pulling away and leaping off the bed.

"Shit. I'm sorry, man."

Jim found he was cradling his arm as if Blair had burned him. He sat down again cautiously, keeping some distance between them. "I don't know much, Chief. I'm a prisoner here, like you."

Blair looked down at himself. "Not like me," he answered pointedly.

Jim nodded, acknowledging it. "I think they left you here like this to send a message to me. I'm not sure what to read into it, though." Remembering Sark's casual offer of "company", Jim shuddered. He vowed silently that no one was going to treat Blair like that. No one.

"What's going on, Jim?" Blair asked him again.

"They want something from me. I don't know what. I don't know who 'they' are, either. I've met one man. Young, English, calls himself Sark. We're on board a ship and out of sight of land so I don't have much clue where we are. My guess is the Pacific, but it's only a guess. Sark said we'll be travelling for a few weeks."

"Travelling where?"

"He didn't tell me." Jim sighed. "Blair..." He reached out to touch him, but let his hand drop. "Chief, I'm trying to hold it together, but..." Jim scrubbed at his hair to cover the fear running through him. There was no screen between him and Blair. There were no restraints on Jim's hands, no guards watching them with guns and sedatives. Nothing to stop Jim from hurting this man...

The frustration in Blair's expression melted into understanding and concern. He reached out, the comforter falling away from his groin. His hand touched Jim's shoulder, hot and heavy, and stayed there, reassuring. "You're okay, man. Deep breaths, remember?" Blair's voice dropped, becoming low and steady as he went on speaking. "Listen to me, Jim. You are not crazy. You've just left a sterile environment, that's all, and your senses are overwhelmed. You need time to get used to it. You did before, Jim, you can do it again. Just try to relax."

Blair took Jim's hand in his and began to pry his fingers open one by one. Only then did Jim realise that his hands were clenched into tight fists. He relaxed with an effort and Blair slid his hand over Jim's, palm-to-palm. It made Jim shiver.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked, his voice quiet.

Jim answered awkwardly. "Uh...I think we'd better find you some clothing if you're going to do things like that."

"Why?" Blair asked. He looked so damned innocent. Then he glanced down. "Oh. Um. Right." Blair looked away from the bulge in Jim’s pants, a delightful blush staining his pale cheeks.

That was _so_ not the reaction Jim expected. He remembered Blair was homosexual. It was something he had forgotten; Jim so rarely saw anything of Blair's personal life that he thought of him simply as a friend he loved. Gender was irrelevant; sexuality only slightly less so as there had never been any possibility Jim could...

The thought cut off as Blair withdrew his touch. "Is there any clothing around here?" he asked.

"I haven't had a chance to find out." Jim reached past Blair to check the bedside drawer and found it empty. He tried the closet next and discovered shirts, sweaters and pants: comfortable, casual clothing. There was a set of drawers within the closet and there he found underpants and socks. He selected clothing for Blair, hoping it would come close to his size.

Jim laid the garments on the bed. "I'll...uh..." he gestured helplessly toward the next room.

***

Sleep was not going to happen. Blair yawned, sighed and turned over again, rearranging the towel he was using as a blanket. It didn't exactly cover him, but the night wasn't too cold, so it was okay.

In the day just past (at least, he thought it was a day - though he _had_ spent a lot of time unconscious) Blair had been kidnapped at gunpoint, taken god-alone-knew-where in the back of a van, drugged and finally blindfolded and handcuffed naked to a bed. Jim said he thought that was a message; Blair got the message loud and clear. He was nothing to these people. Meat.

Now he was locked up alone with a serial killer. There was something very weird about the fact that only the last part didn't scare him. In fact, having Jim close by was oddly comforting. It meant Blair was not alone. Blair wasn't afraid of Jim. But he was very afraid _for_ Jim.

He turned over again, rearranging the pillow under his neck. Since Blair woke up on the bed, their captors had left Jim and Blair alone in their luxurious prison. They were interrupted only once, by a silent man bringing food and drink. There was little for them to do except talk and talk they did. They exchanged stories: Blair told Jim about his abduction and Jim told him everything he could remember. Conversation between them was usually easy but not in this place.

Blair tried several times to get Jim to sit close to him while they talked, but Jim seemed reluctant, almost to the point of phobia. He wouldn't touch Blair. He kept a physical distance between them, sitting in the chair while Blair took the couch, when it would have felt more natural (to Blair, at least) for them to share the couch. Jim wasn't like this back at the asylum. Though the asylum's security measures were a barrier between them, Blair had walked with Jim in the inner courtyard and Jim was comfortable with casual touch. Now he seemed far from comfortable.

Was Jim embarrassed because he'd been turned on earlier? Blair didn't mind; he was flattered...a little. There was no shame in getting a hard-on. It wasn't a voluntary reaction. Blair knew - he had known for some time - that Jim's feelings for him were not strictly platonic. He decided Jim didn't want to admit to them. The man was straight, and he'd missed out on over a decade of social change that might have helped him come to terms with a change in his sexuality. Blair wouldn't push the issue. Jim's mental state was still fragile.

Instead, the small incident became an elephant in the room with them. As day became evening, and then night, one of them had to broach the subject of sleeping arrangements because there was only one bed. The bed was large enough to share, but Jim's evident reluctance even to sit near Blair made him assume sharing was not an option. Jim offered to take the couch but Blair insisted on sleeping there himself. The couch was a two-seater, not really large enough to sleep on, so Blair as the smaller of the two men had a better chance of being comfortable on it.

But that was a lie. Blair shifted again, trying in vain to find a comfortable position in the cramped space. It was no use. He sat up, letting his towel-blanket fall to the ground. He was too stressed for sleep. Blair needed to figure out how he felt about the situation he was in, and what he wanted to do about it. When they traded stories earlier, Blair's questions were the same as Jim's: why them? Blair's presence seemed linked to Jim's; he thought they probably wanted someone close to Jim, though Blair wasn't sure why. Jim's assumption that they wanted him to kill someone had some holes in it. It was obvious to Blair that their captors needed Jim because he was unique in some way...and to Blair Jim's uniqueness was his sentinel gift. That led him to wonder if he was taken for a similar reason. It wouldn't be the first time someone assumed that Blair specialised in tribal sentinels because he _was_ one. Or, Blair's train of thought circled back to Jim, it could be because he helped Jim with his ability. Without more information, Blair had no way to guess. One thing was certain, though: it was Jim who was central to whatever these people planned. Blair was a spare part, expendable.

"Chief."

Jim's voice interrupted his thoughts and Blair looked up to find Jim standing over him, a huge, hulking shadow in the darkness.

He jumped. "Shit! Man, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry. I thought you could see me."

Blair laughed nervously. "You're the sentinel, man. It's pitch dark in here for me."

Blair felt the couch move as Jim sat down, but not close to him. "Blair, you're not comfortable out here, are you? We can share the bed if you like. It's big enough."

Blair wished for a light, to see Jim's face. He needed to know what the offer was costing Jim. "Are you sure, Jim? Earlier you seemed..." Blair stopped, unable to find a delicate way to phrase it.

Jim's breath came out in a sigh. "I'm..." he began, and stopped. After a heartbeat, he added, "Do you trust me, Blair?"

Blair answered instantly, "I trust you with my life, Jim. That's the truth."

"I don't," Jim confessed.

"I know. You're afraid of hurting me, aren't you? Or, someone else."

Jim nodded.

Blair wanted to reach out to Jim, but the distance between them seemed too great. "Jim, how long has it been since you had an episode?"

"I know it's been a long time..."

"I can tell you exactly. October 2008. That's over two and a half years ago. And you've been off all medication, even sedatives, for one and a half years. Jim, I understand why you don't trust yourself, but I believe...no, I _know_...that if you harm someone now it won't be because you're crazy or you lose control. It will happen if you _mean_ to do it. And I don't believe you mean me any harm."

There was a long silence, then Jim said, "Come to bed, then. You're keeping me awake tossing and turning out here." He moved and Blair felt Jim's hand on his back, guiding him to stand.

Blair allowed Jim to guide him into the bedroom. Jim said nothing further, but simply got into the bed, leaving the side furthest from the door to Blair. Blair debated for a moment and then stripped off his clothing and climbed in. Jim lay on his side, his back to Blair. After a few moments, Blair relaxed. The bed was much more comfortable than the couch and in minutes Blair was asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Good." Sark said, nodding. He smiled into the webcam, a cold, humourless smile. "If everything is in place by the time we reach Guayaquill, you'll get your payment, Ramon. If not..." He let his voice trail off, the threat hanging in the air.

Ramon's image flickered out, and Sark closed the webcam.

Sark reopened the hidden camera feed to his laptop. He had long ago changed the view to infra-red and could see both men clearly. They were sharing the bed now, but both appeared to be sleeping. Damn it, was the man a eunuch? Sark's people did everything but gift-wrap Sandburg.

Ellison had been in prison for a long time. He should have been desperate for a fuck, regardless of who was offered. Unless...perhaps he was no longer able. Sark's eyes narrowed as he watched the men sleep. That could be a problem. It was not, however, an insurmountable one. Perhaps stronger measures would be required.

***

Blair woke with a start, his eyes open wide at once. He took in the unfamiliar room, the strange bed and felt an instant of confusion.

He heard a moan beside him and turned. The sound was responsible for waking him.

Jim was lying on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other dangling off the side of the mattress, fist clenched tight. His face, damp with sweat, turned toward Blair, but his eyes were closed in sleep. He was dreaming, and it didn't look like a good one. Jim's lips moved, his muttered words incoherent but the tone was one of deep distress. A man drowning.

Blair reached out, touching Jim's cheek gently. "Jim. Jim, wake up. It's just a nightmare." He only meant to wake him, to bring him out of the dream.

Everything happened very fast.

A sound - part shout, part growl - came from Jim's throat. Jim grasped Blair's wrist, twisting him away. He was so rough he might have broken the bone if the angle were less awkward. As it was, pain shot through Blair.

"Jim! It's me! Jim, it's okay!"

Jim didn't release him: he shoved him away. Blair, caught off balance, tumbled out of the bed, cradling his hurt wrist. He got to his knees, straining to see in the darkness. He saw Jim sitting on the far edge of the bed. His breathing was harsh and uneven...almost sobbing.

Blair crawled across the bed to Jim. Tentatively, he stroked Jim's back, saying quietly, "It's okay, man. It was just a nightmare." Jim's muscles were hard and tense beneath his touch. Blair kept up that gentle stroking, long, slow gestures. He shifted closer, pressing his body against Jim's side. "You're not alone, Jim. I'm here."

Jim's reply was swallowed by a choking sob and Jim turned toward Blair, wrapping his arms around Blair's body, hugging him tight. Blair felt Jim begin to relax and hugged him back happily.

Without warning, Jim pushed him back onto the bed. Blair's sound of protest was muffled by Jim's mouth descending on his. The kiss was savage, bruising Blair's lips. At first he tried to push Jim away but as he realised what was happening he stopped. The depth of Jim's sudden need was frightening but Blair found an answering need within himself. He opened to Jim, responding to his kiss.

Blair was pinned beneath Jim's body: pinned, but not helpless. He pulled Jim closer, one hand on the back of Jim's neck. Jim growled deep in his throat. He raised up a little, running a hand roughly down the front of Blair's body. Still kissing Blair, he grunted in satisfaction when his hand encountered Blair's cock. Blair gasped at the touch, but Jim paid no attention. Jim yanked down the underpants he was wearing and the next moment his whole weight was on top of Blair. Jim's cock, hard and heavy, thrust between Blair's legs.

Blair wasn't ready, he realised with near panic. It was too quick, and he knew it would hurt. Jim wasn't thinking that clearly. Blair understood, too late, that this was what Jim feared, this loss of control, and on the heels of that he knew that if he didn't stop this, it was going to be rape. But to stop Jim, he would have to hurt him, and Blair couldn't do that.

Blair did the only thing he could do.

He twisted his mouth away from Jim's, gasping out, "Jim, wait!" At the same time he shoved at Jim's chest, the gesture reinforcing the words. Jim hesitated only for an instant, but it was enough. Blair shifted beneath Jim, managing to raise his legs, reach down. "Now, Jim," he said hoarsely.

And Jim was inside him. With so little preparation it did hurt, but Blair swallowed back the cry of pain. Jim crushed Blair against him, thrusting into him, oblivious to everything but Blair. It didn't last for long. Just a few hard thrusts and Jim roared his triumph as he orgasmed and finally collapsed on top of Blair's body, spent.

***

"It's about time, Ellison," Sark muttered, reaching for the satphone. He began to extract the relevant section of the camera feed while he waited for the call to connect. It was a show worth waiting for and he felt some relief that no further intervention would be necessary.

He froze the feed. The pale green image captured a moment of pure panic on Sandburg's face. He let the recording run from that point, making a copy as he watched. He saw Sandburg try to push Ellison away, then he gave up and cooperated, or so it seemed to Sark. Ellison showed no sign of caring one way or the other.

His connection established. "Phase two is complete," he reported. He paused, listening, then answered, "I'm really not certain. I'll upload the recording for you; you'll see what I mean...yes, he seems quite cooperative. Ramon says he's ready. I'll proceed with the test on schedule." He frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise...yes, of course. I'll contact you when we are in position." He turned off the phone, and began uploading the recording to an FTP server.

***

The weight of Jim's body was becoming uncomfortable. Blair was about to ask him to move when Jim lifted himself up.

He remained poised above Blair. "Blair," he said softly, "did I hurt you?"

The question was a relief: it showed Blair that Jim was thinking clearly and rationally again. Blair answered, "No," though that wasn't quite true. Jim _had_ hurt him; he hadn't harmed him...but Blair didn't think Jim was up to making the distinction. He added, "I'm fine, Jim."

As if in reply, Jim's hand moved over Blair's chest, his neck and finally cupped his cheek. "Thank you," Jim whispered, so quietly Blair wasn't certain he had spoken at all. Jim rolled over onto his back, then, and Blair half expected him to fall asleep.

Jim's body remained tense beside Blair. After a long silence, Blair asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just a nightmare," Jim grunted.

Blair wasn't sure whether Jim misunderstood him, or _ deliberately_ misunderstood him. Either way, Jim would talk if he needed to. So Blair said, "Okay," and turned onto his side to face Jim. He closed his eyes as if to sleep.

Eventually, Jim's voice broke the silence. "I used to have the same dream every night. Back when I was on death row. I woke up in the dark. Cold. Alone. Or worse, not alone. I was in hell."

Blair inched closer to him. "What were you dreaming about?" he asked.

Jim's voice was utterly neutral. "My execution."

"Oh, Jim..." Blair couldn't help himself. He reached out in the darkness, gathering Jim into his arms. Jim let him do it, resting his head on Blair's chest as Blair held him close. Blair stroked Jim's back, a slow, comforting touch.

"When they sentence you to death," Jim went on, speaking quietly against Blair's skin, "they make you choose how it's gonna happen. Did you know that?"

"I know," Blair answered. He did know, intellectually, that the condemned had the right to determine their method of execution. But hearing Jim say it, the full horror of that choice dawned on Blair. He realised he had known it, but hadn't understood it before.

"In Washington it's hanging or lethal injection."

Again, Blair knew that, and he knew Jim had chosen the latter. He stayed quiet, though, stroking Jim's back, letting Jim talk.

"For me it was an easy choice. I hated the thought of lethal injection. I...I can't explain, but it felt...clinical. Just wrong. Does that make sense?"

Blair wasn't sure it did, but Jim was talking, and needed some response from him, so Blair gave it a try. "You started out in the army and from there you became a cop. I'd guess if you ever thought about your own death, you probably expected to go out biting a bullet. Or something violent, anyway. So I can see how...that might have felt..."

"You always understand me, Chief." Jim cuddled closer, laying an arm across Blair's waist.

Blair loved the gesture, but he was still trying to work out what Jim was saying. It simply didn't fit the facts. "But, Jim," he tried, hesitantly, "you didn't..."

Jim silenced him with a fingertip touching Blair's lips. "After I lost my appeal - the first one - they told me I had to make the choice." He moved his arm back to Blair's waist. "By then I was...well, there was only one person left I cared about. Stephen. Stephen stuck by me through everything, Chief. He just assumed I would choose injection. I tried to tell him, once, how I felt, but...I knew he would want to be there, as my witness, and I just couldn't do that to him. I couldn't make him watch me hang."

Finally, Blair understood. "You chose injection...because of Stephen?" Did Stephen know? No, he couldn't know. Blair was sure Stephen would be horrified to hear this.

"I know what you're thinking," Jim said. Blair was fairly certain he didn't. "I guess this will sound crazy but I thought...I didn't want the last thing I would ever do to be a selfish act."

Blair smiled, though he knew Jim wouldn't see it. It was difficult to hear this and keep in mind the terrible things Jim had done. "I think everyone's entitled to that, Jim. You should be able to die in peace. Stephen - "

"Would have hated me for it," Jim interrupted, "even if he understood." He sighed, a whoosh of warm air on Blair's chest. "As soon as I signed the paper, the nightmares started. I took that walk every night. Into that room...saw the people watching. My brother... Sometimes I woke up before... Sometimes I didn't."

Blair felt a wet warmth on his chest. Jim was crying. Maybe it was finally getting this out, maybe the darkness made it easier for him. Blair said nothing, but held Jim close. He needed this. How long had Jim held this inside? Too long, far too long to suffer such pain alone. Always, before, Jim found his release in violence, rage. But that wasn't a solution, just a temporary release. Perhaps now he could finally begin to let it go.

"I never told anyone that before," Jim said. His voice was quiet, but steady, showing no evidence of the tears in his eyes.

"I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me," Blair said. He looked up at the tiny window and saw the first sliver of dawn's light.


	6. Chapter 6

Simon Banks finished his third mug of coffee, turned the page and went on reading. He rubbed his temples distractedly; the poor quality print was hard on his eyes and he was getting a headache. Even so, the manuscript was compelling reading.

He blinked, sat back in his chair and removed his glasses to clean them. Simon felt he had a duty to Blair Sandburg. They'd known each other a long time. Simon remembered the scared student who approached him with Tania Roca's evidence of a serial killer in Cascade, and remembered the confident academic who somehow persuaded Ellison to make a full confession of his crimes. Yeah, Simon owed him.

The Federal Marshall's office was running the search for Ellison and they had declared that if Sandburg's disappearance was connected to Ellison's escape, the most likely conclusion was that the two men planned the escape together. The man Simon spoke to implied that since Sandburg was a homosexual he was susceptible to such...persuasion. It was that which led Simon, against all jurisdictional rules, to begin investigating for himself.

It took Simon a couple of days to track down Sandburg's next of kin. He needed consent to search Sandburg's house, as he couldn't ask for a warrant. He anticipated a fight, but when he reached her Naomi Sandburg acted as though she'd been expecting his call. She asked to meet him at her son's house.

Naomi did not object to Simon searching the house, but told him she'd already done so. She had also given him a box full of paper: printouts of Sandburg's notes about Ellison, she said. "Blair told me he trusts you, Mr Banks. He asked me to share this with you if anything happened to him."

The notion that Blair _anticipated_ something happening to him disturbed Simon enough to reconsider the marshall's words, but no. Sandburg wasn't that good a liar.

It was only as he left the house that Naomi showed how truly worried she was. She'd clutched at his arm, her eyes frantic. "You _will_ find my boy, won't you?" she said.

"I'm going to do everything I can, Ms Sandburg," Simon promised her.

He wasn't sure what Naomi expected him to find in Sandburg's notes, but that seemed the right place to begin. He'd only been reading a few minutes before he realised he had much more than notes here. Sandburg hadn't just made notes, he'd written a damned book.

The public fascination with murder and murderers encouraged any number of journalists to befriend men in prison and write their stories: heavy on the gory details. Blair Sandburg was no journalist and his untitled book was no sensational exposé. In the pages, Simon discovered the Jim Ellison he remembered, the man who was once his close friend. Blair had written a sensitive and insightful account of Ellison's life, including their unlikely friendship. Sandburg suggested that the same character traits which made Ellison a good cop - and he'd got that right, Simon conceded grudgingly - were the same traits that led him so badly wrong after his fiancée was murdered. But he stopped short of defending him, if only just short, in places.

To Simon, who knew them both, one fact shone from every word: Sandburg loved Jim Ellison. More than that, he understood him, which led Simon right back to Sandburg's insistence that Ellison would never have attempted to escape.

It was the final chapter which prompted Simon to reach for the telephone. He dialled a number which, though he still had it memorised, he'd thought he would never use again. Memories flooded back to him while he waited for the call to connect. He wondered how he would feel to hear her voice again.

"Agent Heywood."

Simon took a breath and when he spoke, his voice was mercifully neutral. "Melissa, it's Simon."

"Simon." He could hear her smiling, though she didn't sound surprised to hear from him. "I thought you might call," she told him. Was that the truth, or was she covering?

"You've heard the news, then," he began.

"About Ellison, yes."

"'Liss, I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but I need your help now. I hoped - "

She interrupted him. "Anything I can do, Simon. But is this about Ellison's escape? You know I'm not with the Bureau any more."

He certainly hadn't forgotten. It was the reason they'd split up. Their relationship had been a good one, while it lasted. Long distance: she lived near Quantico, he in Cascade. But weekends and vacations and occasional surprise visits... They were good together. Until Melissa was offered a new job by the Department of State, or so she said. Simon knew that for an agent with her high profile, that could mean only one thing: CIA. She hadn't exactly confirmed it, but she didn't deny it, either and that was almost the same thing. He didn't like it, and they drifted apart. Until that last big fight...

Now, Simon was relying on her being CIA. He hoped he'd got it right. He started to explain about Sandburg's disappearance and his conviction that Ellison had been abducted.

Melissa interrupted again. "I _know_, Simon. I probably know more than you do."

"How?" he demanded.

"I...I can't tell you that. At least not over the phone."

"Alright. How soon can you come to Cascade?" It was a bold request and almost certain to be refused, but he tried it anyway.

Melissa laughed and the sound kicked Simon in the gut. He'd been a fool to let her go... "Only you, Simon. I'm sorry. I'd come if I could but I'm in the middle of something I simply can't abandon."

"Okay, I'll come to you."

"That's not a good idea. Listen, I'll send one of my colleagues to meet with you in Cascade. Tomorrow morning?"

"Um..." It wasn't what he wanted, but perhaps it was better that they not meet. "Okay. Tomorrow."

As he hung up the phone, Simon wondered if he was doing the right thing.

***

Blair woke alone. His body felt stiff and unresponsive. He pushed the covers back and ran a hand down the side of his body. He found bruises on his ribs, an almost perfect impression of Jim's fingers.

He found the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd worn the day before and pulled them on. They were a poor fit, but he felt more comfortable clothed. Blair could hear Jim in the next room. He stood, stretched, and looked for Jim. Jim was dressed only in underpants. He had shifted some of the furniture (how did Blair sleep though that?) and was doing push ups in the middle of the room.

Blair stopped to admire the view. He couldn't help himself. Despite his age - Jim would be fifty next birthday - Jim looked good. His skin was the kind of pale that comes from rarely seeing daylight, but his body was trim and muscled; no sign of the paunch you'd expect to see after so long living in one room. The asylum had told Blair that Jim exercised every day, obsessively, but watching Jim do it was something else entirely. There was a light sheen of sweat on his back, highlighting the curves of his muscles. He wondered how many push ups Jim had done.

Jim finally finished and stood up, turning to face Blair. He was breathing too hard for speech.

"Hey, man," Blair smiled. "I...uh...I was going to take a shower, but if you want to go first..."

Jim shook his head. "Go for it, Chief. I'm not done yet."

The water pressure in the shower was barely adequate, but the water was warm and there was soap, shampoo and large cotton towels. Blair felt much better afterwards. He found an electric razor and shaved off a couple of days worth of beard. The simple actions were a way to put off thinking about everything that happened the night before, or what it could mean for their friendship.

When Blair came out of the tiny bathroom, Jim was waiting. He told Blair that breakfast had been delivered, so Blair checked it out while Jim showered. Breakfast turned out to be pancakes with butter, honey and crispy bacon, freshly baked bread and a large flask of coffee. Blair concluded that their captors were accustomed to luxury...but he wasn't complaining! Apparently mortal danger had no effect on Blair's appetite.

Jim didn't take long in the shower. He was dressed when he joined Blair, helping himself to coffee. He sat down, like the day before, some distance from Blair. He didn't look happy.

"Jim, are you okay, man?"

Jim shook his head: no. "I hurt you last night," he said. "Blair, I'm so sorry. I don't know what - "

"Whoa, man, slow down! I'm fine."

"There's blood on the sheets, Blair."

Blair mentally kicked himself for not checking. He took a deep breath, patting the seat beside him. "Jim, come and sit here. Please."

Jim moved. "I don't know what to say. I never meant to - "

Blair stopped Jim talking by grabbing his hand. He wanted to tell Jim he hadn't been hurt, that everything was okay, that the sex had been great. But Blair was never less than completely honest with Jim. It was why Jim trusted him. Now he was caught in a catch-22: if he lied to Jim, Jim might not trust him again; if he didn't, Jim wouldn't trust _himself_.

Blair lifted Jim's hand, twining their fingers together. "We had sex, Jim. Tell me what that meant to you."

Jim's eyes widened a little. "What it meant?" he repeated. "Blair, I...don't you know?" He brought Blair's hand to his lips. He leaned in to Blair and for a moment Blair thought they were about to kiss, but Jim drew back.

"Jim, what's wrong?"

"You and Stephen are all I have. You're the only people I love. Stephen stuck by me because we're brothers, but you...I know you don't have any reason to - "

"Are you crazy?" Blair burst out.

Jim almost smiled. "Do they usually lock sane people in padded cells?"

Blair threw him an irritated look. "I thought you understood me, man, but you really don't do you?" He was still holding Jim's hand. "Listen, I will never, ever forget that you murdered Tania and twenty two other people. But I care who you are _now_, today. Not who you were thirteen years ago."

"Who is it you think I am?"

_The man I love_, Blair thought, but not even Jim's hearing would pick up his thoughts. He said, "Jim you remember how hard it was for me when Matt left me."

Jim nodded.

"I never told you that a year later, he asked me to take him back. He didn't put any conditions on it but I knew that if he and I were going to make it work, I would have to stop visiting you." He let go of Jim's hand, reaching up to touch his face. "I weighed it up, Jim, and I discovered that you were more important to me." Jim's cheek was soft beneath his fingertips. "There are days when I think I'm crazier than you ever were, but I love you, man."

"You shouldn't," Jim said.

"Why not?" Blair asked him gently, though he knew the answer.

"I don't deserve that from you."

Blair shrugged. "I don't know, Jim. You've come a long way since I've known you."

"I haven't changed as much as you think. Last night..."

"Don't." Blair shook his head firmly. "Just imagine for a moment that you can be a normal guy with a normal life. Would you want me to be part of your life?"

Jim's look was sad. "I would. I _do_, but..."

"Only in your life?" Blair pressed. "Or in your bed?"

Jim hesitated. He moved closer to Blair, putting an arm around his shoulders. "I want you. In every way."

"Me too," Blair asserted. "So stop pretending last night was rape. You hurt me, yeah, a little, but you were in a hurry and I didn't mind." He leaned his head on Jim's shoulder. "Let's go back to bed and do it right this time."

Jim actually laughed, hugging him close.

***

Simon found an unoccupied bench near the joggers' path through Memorial Park. It was a bad place to meet someone on a day like this: the wind from the Pacific was strong, whipping Simon's coat around his legs, chilling his body. He disliked this cloak-and-dagger routine, but the only real alternative was his office at Cascade PD. Simon didn't want anyone, including his friends, to know he was butting into Ellison's case. He pulled the coat more tightly around him.

The middle-aged African-American man who sat beside him, uninvited, was about Simon's height, but slimmer in build. "Captain Banks?" he asked.

Simon admitted he was.

"I'm Marcus Dixon." He offered his hand; Simon shook it. "Melissa Heywood sent me. We work together at the State Department."

"Thank you for coming." Simon let the lie pass: he'd expected it.

"You told Melissa you needed help. Shall we start there?"

"You know about Ellison?" Simon asked. When Dixon confirmed it, Simon explained his concerns for Blair Sandburg. "The Marshall's office have Ellison listed as extremely dangerous, and they're not wrong. But Sandburg's an innocent civilian. If he's caught up in this somehow, and I'm almost certain he is, he's going to get caught in the crossfire. Literally."

"You're probably right. What is it you want from us?"

"I called Melissa because I thought she might have some influence on the Feds. But she made it sound like she - or her agency - is already involved somehow. What do I want? I want to find Ellison and Sandburg and bring them both back to Cascade alive. The Feds will bring 'em back in body bags."

"I don't think you need to worry about that. Federal jurisdiction ends at the border. I think you've already realised that my department wouldn't be involved if Ellison were still in the US." Dixon took a photograph from his pocket. "Do you recognise this man at all?"

Simon took the picture from Dixon's hand. A young-ish man, blonde, his hair cropped very short. He was wearing the orange coveralls typical of US prisons. "No, I've never seen him before. Who is he? Should I know him?"

"We think he met with Doctor Sandburg within the past year. He goes by several names; his most common alias is Sark. Julian Sark. Sark is associated with an international terrorist organisation."

"Why would Sandburg meet with a terrorist?"

"It's unlikely he knew. We learned about six months ago that Sark has an interest in James Ellison. We still don't know the exact nature of that interest. I'm afraid I can't tell you much more."

Why would a terrorist be interested in Jim? There were a couple of possibilities: during his time with Cascade PD Jim had been involved in cases connected to terrorism: the theft of a bio-weapon from Rainier, the Zeller case... But those cases were fifteen years cold.

"Captain Banks, you know Ellison. Do you think it's possible he would cooperate with a terrorist organisation?"

"No," Simon answered at once. He looked again at the photograph. Mr Sark looked at the camera with guileless, almost innocent eyes. "Not willingly, but he could be deceived. Mr Dixon, Jim was arrested in '98 and convicted the same year. He was transferred to an asylum three years later, but his mental state was unstable for a long time before that happened."

"What's your point?"

"That Jim probably doesn't even know what happened in September 2001. The world has changed, Mr Dixon, and Jim Ellison missed it." He gave the photograph back to Dixon. "Why is this Sark interested in Ellison?"

"You wouldn't believe it, Captain Banks, but you don't have clearance for that information anyway."

"Clearance!" One word and it came out sounding like the strongest swear word he could come up with. "Do you know for sure that Sark has them?"

"We don't have confirmation yet, but the M.O. of Ellison's abduction is consistent with Sark's methods and Sark vanished off the grid at the same time."

Simon sighed. "I think I can shed some light on this for you."

"If you know something..."

"I called Melissa because I suspected some government agency could be involved in this."

"Why government?"

"It was instinct. I know Ellison did some classified work before he joined Cascade PD. I had reason to think there was a connection. And that is _all_ I'm going to say, Mr Dixon, unless you can guarantee to give me something in return. And before you suggest it, no, I'm not trying to blackmail anyone. It's just that this information is the only leverage I have."

Dixon smiled. "You sound like someone else I know. I can't guarantee anything. But I give you my word we'll return the favour if you help us. Is that good enough?"

It would have to be good enough, Simon realised. He nodded reluctantly. "Sandburg signed a non-disclosure agreement when he began visiting Ellison. It expires if Ellison dies. Sandburg wrote a book, intended for publication in that event. To my knowledge, no one has seen it except his mother and I."

"I want to see that book."

"I know you do, Mr Dixon. Now, this is what _I_ want..."


	7. Chapter 7

Jim's kiss was gentle; there was no sign of the demanding urgency of the night before. His tongue probed Blair's mouth, exploring, learning. Blair ran his hands over Jim's body, feeling the shape of his firm muscles through the t-shirt. He was so ready for this. His hands reached Jim's neck and Blair felt the tension knotted there. He understood, then, how much Jim was holding back. He admired Jim's restraint, but it wasn't what Blair wanted.

Blair kissed Jim, pushing him back against the couch. Never breaking the kiss, Blair shifted his position until he straddled Jim's thighs. The position made him a little taller than Jim. Jim moaned softly into Blair's mouth, running his hands up Blair's back, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Blair pushed his tongue into Jim's mouth and was thrilled when Jim opened to him, inviting him to explore. And explore he did. Jim tasted wonderful...

While Jim's hands kneaded Blair's shoulders, Blair reached down and worked his fingers underneath Jim's t-shirt. Slowly, he lifted the t-shirt up, getting his hands on bare skin.

Jim's hands stopped him. "Are you sure about this?" Jim asked.

"Of course I am!" Blair answered at once. Then, looking into Jim's eyes uncertainly, he added, "Don't you want...me?"

"More than anything," Jim whispered. "I just mean...you know, our situation..."

Blair smiled with relief. "I see your point, man." He didn't want the reminder. He _really_ didn't. Part of him had been in panic mode ever since he woke up in this place, naked and handcuffed to a bed. As long as he and Jim were left alone, Blair thought he could handle it. It was like their walks in the asylum's courtyard: the men with guns were out of sight and it was a moment to be savoured. But the more time passed, the harder it was to keep his head in that space. He needed a distraction, and Jim was all he had.

Denial wasn't Blair's preferred way of dealing with problems. He knew it wouldn't work forever but what else could he do? He needed to stay calm because _Jim_ needed to stay calm. Jim could be...unpredictable if he got agitated.

"Jim," Blair reached for him, a little desperately, "we might never have another chance." He pulled Jim's t-shirt over his head and dropped it beside them. Jim let him do it, but didn't help. Blair stripped off his own top. "What are you afraid of, Jim?"

"I'm not afraid..." he began defensively, then stopped and corrected himself. "Okay, maybe I am. I've never..."

"I know." Blair kissed Jim again. "Tell me what you want, Jim," he said seriously. He touched Jim's cheek, feeling a faint trace of stubble and stroked down to Jim's neck and across his broad shoulders.

"I want..." Jim took a breath. "Oh, god, Blair, I want _you_." He followed Blair's lead, touching his neck with both hands, then sliding his hands down Blair's chest slowly to touch his nipples. Jim's expression was questioning, as if he wasn't sure whether Blair would enjoy his touch.

He need not have worried. As Jim's fingers reached his nipples Blair drew in his breath sharply. "Oh, man!"

"You like that, huh?" Jim looked pleased.

"I love you touching me." Blair leaned close to kiss Jim's neck just below his ear. Jim arched his neck, silently begging for more. Blair ran his tongue around the shell of Jim's ear and breathed gently on the wet skin. He felt Jim shiver beneath his caress and ran a hand down Jim's naked chest. He wanted to touch Jim _everywhere_.

Jim grabbed Blair's hand suddenly and for a moment Blair thought he was going to ask him to stop. But Jim moved Blair's hand down until Blair cupped Jim's groin. He could feel Jim's erection through his pants. He rubbed the hard flesh slowly to show Jim he'd got the message.

"Jim," he whispered, his mouth still very close to Jim's ear, "let's go to bed."

***

In the bedroom, Blair got naked quickly. He enjoyed having a lover strip him, but getting naked fast seemed like the best way to overcome the remaining awkwardness. And he badly wanted to see Jim naked!

Jim took the cue but undressed with his back to Blair. Blair noticed a scar near Jim's spine: a line of raised flesh about five centimetres long just below Jim's waist. He almost asked about it, but before he could, Jim turned around, nude, and all the words Blair had ever known just fell out of his head. He'd never seen Jim naked and he stared. Jim was a vision, his torso a perfect triangle leading Blair's eyes down.

Wordlessly, Blair moved forward, reaching up to Jim's shoulders. The muscles were hard beneath his fingers...too hard.

Language returned. "Geez, man, you're tense! C'mon, I'm gonna loosen you up a little."

Blair led Jim to the bed and made him lie down. He'd spotted some massage oil in the bathroom and ducked in there to get it. He sniffed the bottle cautiously, hoping it wouldn't be scented; with Jim's enhanced sense of smell, that could be a problem. There was a subtle scent of sandalwood, but it seemed quite pleasant to Blair.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked him. He was still lying on the bed, propped up on one arm watching Blair curiously.

"It's massage oil, Jim." He held out the bottle. "Smell okay to you?"

"I guess so, but..."

"I'm just gonna help you relax, man." Blair knelt on the bed. "Lie on your front, Jim. Please?"

Jim reached up, kissed him and then did as Blair asked, rolling onto his belly. He hesitated, then shifted slightly, arranging his body comfortably.

Blair knelt beside him. He poured oil into his hands to warm it. He _did_ want relax Jim; the tension in his shoulders felt almost painful. But he was honest enough to recognise that he had an overwhelming desire to touch Jim, and this was a great excuse. Blair took a breath, anticipating. He spread the oil across Jim's shoulders and it glistened on his skin. Jim sighed and Blair got to work. He wasn't as good as a professional masseur, but he did know what he was doing: he knew how much pressure to apply and which spots would feel good. And Jim's skin felt great under his hands. He realised that a large part of his urge to touch Jim was because they'd been kept apart for so long. In three years of loving Jim, Blair had been forced to settle for a conversation once a week and a few stolen kisses on the rare occasions they were allowed some privacy.

What was making Jim so tense? Blair's fingers worked at the knotted muscles and slowly he felt the tightness ease.

"How does that feel?" Blair asked eventually.

"Wonderful," Jim murmured sleepily.

"Want me to keep going?"

"Mm-hm."

Blair added more oil to his hands and worked his way lower down Jim's back. With his hands on Jim's waist he leaned over to kiss the gleaming skin. When Jim seemed to like that, Blair kissed a path down Jim's spine, using lips and tongue. The scar he'd noticed earlier caught his attention again and he licked along it.

"How did you get this?" Blair asked.

"Knife wound. In Peru. Before...everything."

Blair waited for Jim to elaborate, and when he didn't Blair kissed his way back up to Jim's shoulders, laying across Jim's body to seek his mouth. Jim returned his kiss hungrily.

Blair smiled inwardly. Oh, yeah, Jim was ready... They could talk some other time.

Still kissing him, Blair stroked his hand over Jim's buttocks and gently felt between them. With one oiled finger he circled Jim's anus and then, very, very gently pressed against Jim's opening.

Instantly, Jim tensed, pulling away from the kiss. "Don't!"

Blair backed off quickly. "I'm sorry, man."

Jim rolled away from him.

Blair lay down beside Jim, turning his body toward him but being careful not to touch. "Jim, I want to make love to you. But there's lots of ways we can do that. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

"You." The word was muffled.

Blair smiled. "You've got me. Can you be more specific?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do." Was Jim worried about how Blair would react to something he wanted? "Jim," he tried, encouragingly, "just tell me." When Jim didn't answer, Blair moved closer to him. "Okay. You don't want me to take you."

Jim rolled onto his back, looking up at Blair. "I...I kinda do. Or I thought I did. But I can't, Chief. I just can't do it."

"It's okay. Do you want to take me?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

Blair grinned. "Jim, it won't be my first time. It doesn't hurt, man, it feels great!"

"Last night I made you bleed, Chief."

_Let it go, Blair..._ Blair nodded, acknowledging the point, unable to deny that Jim _had_ hurt him, a little. "Something else, then. How about a blowjob? Or I could do you by hand. Or, if you like..."

"Stop." Jim covered Blair's mouth with his fingers. "I want you, Blair. I don't _know_ how. This is all new to me...and the shopping list isn't a turn on."

Blair chuckled. "Point taken." He stretched his arms above his head. _Time out, man._ "It was all new to me once, too. My first time with a man scared the crap out of me."

"How old were you?"

"Uh...eighteen," Blair answered, upgrading his age without really thinking about it. In his head, he excused the lie: he didn't want to shock Jim, or give him the wrong idea. "I was...um...going through an adventurous phase. After that I spent a few years trying to convince myself I wasn't queer. It didn't work too well." He reached out to run a hand down Jim's chest and stomach. "I love a man's body too much to be straight," he admitted. He moved his hand lower, stroking Jim's partially erect cock. "I love _this_." Blair looked into Jim's blue eyes. "Come to me," Blair said, but it was he who moved into Jim's arms, lifting his face for a kiss. He wanted to be as close as possible to Jim's body. Chest to chest, groin to groin.

"Blair..." Jim held him tightly, kissing him. The kiss still felt hesitant, as if Jim was fighting something within himself. Then Jim rolled on top of Blair and Blair felt the heat of Jim's cock thrust between his thighs. He shifted so his balls brushed Jim's erection and Jim groaned into Blair's mouth, his shoulders and back tensing beneath Blair's hands.

Understanding burst on Blair and he felt like a fool for not getting it sooner. If that touch felt good to Blair - and it felt damn good! - what must Jim be feeling? Jim was a sentinel. And he was afraid of losing control. That damned asylum trained him to be afraid of his own instincts. How the hell can anyone enjoy sex if they can't let go of control?

Blair reached up, taking Jim's face between his hands, forcing him to  break the kiss. He looked into Jim's troubled eyes. "Jim, relax. This is supposed to be fun. Let your senses open up, Jim. All of them."

"I can't."

"You can. Take a deep breath, Jim. Now let it out slowly and just let go."

As Jim breathed out, Blair moved his hips, rubbing his cock against Jim's. That was all Jim needed. He thrust against Blair, his gaze still locked with Blair's. When Blair pulled Jim's face down, Jim kissed him deeply. He didn't try to enter Blair, which was a little frustrating, but the friction was enough. More than enough, Blair was coming fast, sweat-slicked flesh sliding on flesh, heat and lust and love and a building tension that was going to climax soon...soon...and _now! _as Jim finally let go with a cry and they came together.

Jim collapsed on top of Blair, his face burrowing into the curve of Blair's neck. The weight of his body felt good, and Blair stroked Jim's hair slowly; the small movement all he was capable of in that moment. Sweat and come cooled on his skin and he realised they were both going to need a shower. When he could get up. In a few hours...


	8. Chapter 8

Blair picked up Jim's empty breakfast plate and carried it over to the tray near the door. He glanced back over his shoulder to Jim and the knife slid off the plate. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Blair bent to pick it up.

"Chief, if you don't cut that out, I'm gonna handcuff you to the bed!"

Blair turned around, surprised. "I'm just tidying up."

"Then do it _quietly_."

Blair picked up the knife and placed it on the tray with the rest of the breakfast things. Someone would show up sooner or later to take the tray. Blair didn't know when. They stole his watch along with his clothes when they brought him here.

Jim was right: Blair was ready to climb the walls. He hated being in this luxury cell. He hated not knowing what was going on or why the reason for this captivity. He hated that Jim could handle it. Jim was accustomed to confinement and didn't seem bothered by their solitude.

Blair, on the other hand, was going crazy.

There were no books. No TV. No one but Jim to talk to. Spending his nights in Jim's arms was wonderful, but by day...yeah, he was going crazy.

Jim could sit still for hours, doing nothing. Or at least, nothing Blair could help with. Jim told Blair he was investigating what was going on elsewhere on the ship. He could reach out with his senses and - if he was left alone to concentrate - it was almost as good as being out there walking around. If he couldn't _see_, he told Blair, then his hearing and smell could provide a good picture. But it did take concentration.

Blair had a lot of energy and he was restless. He knew Jim was about ready to toss him overboard, but he couldn't help it.

"Blair."

Blair turned around. "Man, I wasn't..."

"No. Come and sit down. I think we should talk."

Blair sat down next to Jim. "What's on your mind, man?"

Jim looked very serious. "I still don't have a clear idea what we're doing here, or what Sark expects me to do."

Blair nodded. "You're not hearing much?"

"Lots. Just not much that makes sense. I've been thinking about what we should do."

"Oh." Blair looked out of the window. He still saw nothing but open sea. "Well, we know escape isn't an option as long as we're on this ship." He shrugged, meeting Jim's eyes. "But at some point we're going to hit land. Is there any chance?"

"If I see a chance for us both to get away, I think we should take it, yeah. But these people are professionals, Chief. I don't think we should bank on that opportunity." He sighed. "I've decided I should cooperate with Sark."

"What?"

"Until I know what's going on, it seems like the safest thing to do. As soon as we stop being useful, he's going to kill both of us. You know that, don't you?"

Blair nodded because Jim was right. "Does that mean you're willing to kill for him?"

Jim shifted closer to Blair, resting an arm across his shoulders. The gesture was nice, but Blair thought it was a way to avoid meeting his eyes. "Truthfully, I don't know, Chief. It's not something I _want_ to do. But..."

"No. Don't you _dare_ qualify or excuse that one, Jim. You _can't_ kill."

"Spoken like a true idealist," Jim sighed. He moved away and faced Blair. "Listen to me. I know I've been out of the loop for a while, but I can still think straight. We're in this together, so we've got some choices to make, and _you_ need to accept that there's going to be bloodshed, no matter what happens. Whatever Sark wants from me, or from us, it's safe to assume it's illegal and probably dangerous. If we can't give him what he wants, he's going to kill us. If we can, and do, there's a good chance that killing us is the plan anyway. Now, I've thought about this a lot. Blair, my priority is keeping us both alive, and if possible in one piece. If I can do that without getting more blood on my hands, then I will. But if I have to..."

Blair interrupted. "Jim, that's exactly what you mustn't do. You were an addict, man. If you let yourself go there again..."

Jim nodded. "I might not come back. I know. Like I said, tough choices."

"Jim, no!"

"Yes. At least until we know what's going on."

"Okay," Blair said, his tone of voice making it clear, he hoped, that it wasn't okay at all. "What do you know so far?"

"Sark is in charge of this operation, but he's working for someone else. I've listened to them speaking on the phone, but I haven't a clue who his employer is. She sounds American, but that's the best I can do."

"She?" Blair repeated, startled.

"It's definitely a female voice. The problem is they talk in code: phase one, phase two and so on. It's military parlance: means the op is already planned in detail so they don't need to talk about the specifics. So all I know is they're about to start 'phase three'. Whatever that means."

"I guess we're going to find out," Blair agreed.

***

Later that morning, Sark's men showed up again. They were heavily armed, and asked Jim to go with them. Jim looked at Blair and their eyes met for a moment. Jim gave him a small nod; something was happening at last. He went with the men.

They led him to the same cabin as before but this time when Jim entered the cabin he was immediately aware of a change. It took him a moment to realise it was his hearing. The sounds of the ship faded. Jim listened, trying to locate Blair. It should have been easy. From the beginning in the asylum, when he began to get his senses under control, he had always been able to find Blair. But there was nothing.

A white noise generator? It made Jim nervous, and it was an effort to hide that from Sark.

Sark was waiting for him behind a large desk. He nodded to the men behind Jim and they left. "Come in, Mr Ellison. I hope you've been comfortable?"

"As prison cells go, it's lovely," Jim said. He wanted to slam this smug bastard up against the wall and demand answers. He settled for, "What's going on, Sark?"

"You're not fond of small talk, are you?" Sark closed the laptop in front of him. "The job my employer wants you to do is very important. We want to be certain you are the right man for this task."

Jim dragged out a chair and sat down. "You must be sure of that already. You spent too much to bring me here."

"That's true," Sark conceded, "but my employer wants...let's call it a small test."

"Do I get time to study?"

"We're anchored off the coast of Guayaquill. You're going to partner with Ramon Perez to acquire an item my employer needs."

"You know, Sark, the euphemisms are getting irritating. You mean steal, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was never much of a cat-burglar. I used to be a cop, not a thief. What is this 'item'?"

"Ramon will give you all the details when you reach land," Sark told him. He stood, moving toward the door. "Come with me."

_Now? I'm leaving now?_ Jim hesitated. What the hell was this about? Shouldn't Sark expect Jim to make a break for freedom? He was handing Jim the perfect opportunity, here. Jim stood and followed Sark onto the deck. Two armed men flanked them, but at a distance, giving an illusion of privacy.

The ocean breeze caught at Sark's blonde hair. "The nature of the item doesn't concern you..."

"Yes, it does. I want to know what sort of danger I'm walking into."

Sark almost smiled. "I see why you'd think so, but it's nothing like that, Mr Ellison. The item itself is not dangerous at all." He slowed his pace, walking up to the rail and looking out over the ocean. "How long did you spend in prison? I know you were in that asylum for most of your sentence."

Jim leaned back against the rail, avoiding the sight of all that open water. He frowned at the question, but answered, "If you include the time I was in custody before I was convicted, about three years, I think."

Sark nodded. "I was in prison for that long myself. Tell me," he added, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather, "during that time, were you raped?"

Jim stared at him. "That's none of your goddamned business!" he snapped, but his mind was racing, trying to figure out the point of the question. Snatches of overheard conversations came back to him - Sark objecting to something his employer wanted, something connected with Jim, but never specified. Jim closed his eyes, fighting off the memories crowding him. Water in his face... No. He needed to stay focussed.

Sark turned away from the rail to meet Jim's eyes. "I understand why you feel that way, but it's important. Answer the question." The last was spoken curtly, the friendly façade gone.

Jim considered telling him to fuck off, but it wouldn't do much good. If he was going to cooperate with Sark, that should include answering his questions. Eventually, he said, "I was a police detective before I went to jail. If you've spent any time inside, you already know what happens to a cop in prison."

Sark nodded gravely. "Thank you." He gestured to a nearby door. "After you."

Still worried, Jim opened the door and walked through.

He found himself in a U-shaped room. At the far end, the curved wall was mostly glass, giving a view over the bow of the ship. The floor of the room was polished wood, and other fixtures - lights, mirrors and suchlike - gave an impression like the dining room in an expensive hotel. But there was no furniture in the room at all, though marks on the floor showed where tables and chairs used to be. In the centre of the floor, Jim saw something: a framework of steel and leather. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. It was a bondage frame: a device built to hold a person down in a variety of positions for sex. Or for rape.

Understanding was ice down his spine. Jim turned to Sark. "Is that a threat?" he demanded. His voice sounded angry, not scared. Good.

"No, Mr Ellison, it's insurance. From the moment you leave this ship, you have seven hours to complete your task and return with the item we require. If you are late, your friend Sandburg will entertain my men in here. If you fail to return altogether, he will die."

Now Jim _was_ angry; he didn't need to fake it. He and Sark were alone in this room. He could break Sark's neck right now. He wanted to.

If he did...what then? The ship was within sight of land. Could Jim reach Blair? Was escape possible? There were men with guns all around, just waiting for him to try something stupid. Maybe if Blair were at his side right now, they would have a chance...but he wasn't.

Jim looked at the bondage frame and could not help visualising Blair's body stretched out on that thing. Perhaps before they were lovers he would have been able to avoid the image but not now. Jim knew Blair's naked body intimately. The frame would hold his body in the perfect position for rape. He would be completely accessible, completely vulnerable. There were leather straps, metal rings and spikes. Just being tied down there could be torture. Jim had never been into this kind of crap and the thought of anyone enjoying this kind of sex disgusted him. If it were rape...

Jim looked at Sark, letting everything he was feeling show in his face. "What the fuck do you think this is going to achieve? I'll do your job for you! This isn't necessary."

"I'm afraid it is. My instructions are explicit."

That was enough. _No _one was going to rape Blair. Not while Jim was alive to stop it. Jim shoved Sark up against the wall, holding him there with one hand around Sark's throat. His eyes were fixed on Sark. "Let me make something clear to you. If _any_ of your men so much as _touches_ Blair Sandburg, he's dead. And if Blair is hurt in any way, I will kill you, Mr Sark. You know enough about me to know that's not a threat."

Sark's eyes remained calm. "I believe we understand each other, Mr Ellison."

Jim closed his hand, cutting off Sark's air. "Do we?"

Sark nodded and Jim let him go. The bastard wasn't even rattled. He simply straightened his jacket fastidiously and opened the door. "Let's go."

***

Sark refused to allow Jim to see Blair again. Jim wanted to warn him, to prepare him, because he was certain Sark would carry out his threat no matter what consequence Jim promised. But...no dice, apparently. A change of clothing, which included a watch, and now Jim was standing on the deck looking down at the boat waiting below. The boat was a small, powerful leisure craft. It looked fast. Jim could see the coastline from where he stood; it was maybe three miles away. His mind clicked automatically into military-mode, judging distances, noting landmarks, assessing the environment so automatically he was barely aware of doing it. He checked the time on his watch, and started down the ladder.

There was only one man in the boat. Ramon Perez was younger than Jim, but not by much. He was South American, medium height with a wiry build.

He offered his hand to Jim. "I'm Ramon. You must be James Ellison."

Jim shook his hand, surprised by the friendly greeting. "Jim."

"Okay, Jim." Ramon smiled: a flash of white teeth. "I know we're on a tight schedule here, so why don't you help yourself to whatever you need below, and I'll get us moving."

"Uh...okay, sure." Jim headed for the hatch. He wasn't thinking about escape, only about Blair. But he realised suddenly that this really was the perfect opportunity. He could simply kick Perez over the side and go. He'd be onshore in a few minutes and he could disappear.

Sark was smart to keep Blair hostage. It was a cast-iron guarantee that Jim would do everything Sark wanted...but he _couldn't_ afford to let Sark believe that. Shit! If he gave Sark that much power over him this would never be over. How the hell was he supposed to find a way to save Blair without giving that to Sark?

The cabin held a complete arsenal: knives, handguns, rifles and other tools of the assassin's trade. Perez had told him to help himself, so Jim took the invitation seriously. He claimed a pair of throwing knives, testing the balance before strapping them on. He checked out the guns and selected a .32 that fitted into an inner-pants holster at the small of his back, and a powerful looking .45 in a shoulder holster. It was a long time since he'd gone armed and the holster was uncomfortable. Jim was wearing a utility vest with several pockets for ammo. He put the jacket back on, concealing everything just as the boat drew up to the dock.

"Did you find everything you need?" Perez asked him from above.

"Am I going to need the heavy artillery?" Jim called back.

"No, it's not a combat job. Just take what you need for self-defence in case we trip the alarm."

Jim hurried up the steps. "What exactly are we doing?"

"I'm going to show you now. Ready?"

Jim stepped onto the dock and for a moment he paused, getting used to the solidity of the land beneath him again. A moment was all he could allow himself. Jim looked out to sea, where Sark's ship waited. Jim could see Sark on the deck, watching him. He couldn't see Blair: their cabin was on the other side of the ship.

Jim checked his watch, then followed Perez to the car.

Six hours, twenty seven minutes and counting.


	9. Chapter 9

Five hours, four minutes and counting.

Jim wiped the sweat off his palms and took a deep breath, pushing all thought of Blair from his mind.

"Can you do it?" Perez asked him.

"I can if you'll shut the fuck up!"

Jim closed his eyes and held his hand up, palm outwards, hovering just over the panels in front of him. He could feel the electrical charge, a thousand tiny prickles against his skin. He used his sense of touch to direct his hearing and was able to focus in on the sound: the oscillating buzz of electricity. Slowly, Jim moved his hand, exploring the panels. Finally he opened his eyes and turned to Perez. "This one," he said, pointing.

"You're sure?"

Jim nodded. "It's got ten times the charge of any of the other panels."

Perez didn't waste time asking how Jim knew. He fixed a device to the panel Jim had chosen and pressed a couple of buttons, setting the timer.

Jim checked his watch. Four hours, fifty-two minutes. Shit, had it taken him that long?

The timer beeped steadily, counting down the seconds.

"Let's go," Perez said, already moving toward the house.

The house, according to Perez, was empty; the owner spent only one weekend a month at the property. There were security guards patrolling the perimeter, but they were past the wall already and undetected. The rest was an electronic security system and Perez's device was supposed to disable that. The rest, he claimed, would be easy.

Famous last words.

Jim listened to the countdown as he followed Perez. He heard the hiss as the device activated, shorting out the panel. "It's clear," he confirmed, relieved.

Perez knelt in front of a side door, working at the lock. Jim waited impatiently. Though he hadn't been asked, Jim extended his senses through the house, confirming no one was inside.

Jim checked his watch again.

***

"Perez! Wait!"

Perez froze at Jim's warning. He was halfway through stepping into the room they'd found and he stood there, one foot still raised. "What?"

"There are laser beams all over the room. Can't you see them?"

"No."

Jim frowned, wondering how it was possible for Perez to be so blind to something he could see so clearly. Fifteen or more beams of blue light criss-crossed the room, different angles, different heights. "I thought you disabled the security system?"

Perez, statue-still, answered irritably, "I did. This room must be on a separate circuit. Can I move?"

Jim stifled a smile: Perez did look silly, standing there on one foot. "Move back. Now."

Perez took a step backward and Jim started to breath again. He watched Perez reach into a pocket and bring out a packet of cigarettes.

"This is hardly the time to smoke," Jim told him.

"Trust me," Perez answered. He lit a cigarette and knelt down on the floor outside the room.

"Put that thing out!" Jim wanted to kick his ass.

Perez ignored him and took a deep drag on the cigarette. He exhaled, sending a stream of white smoke into the room. For a moment, the smoke flickered blue. "Fuck me," Perez muttered. "How did you see that?"

Jim glared at him. "You want my life story, I'll tell you tomorrow. I'm on a fucking clock here!"

"I know." Perez stood. "You're going to have to talk me through it, tell me where the beams are."

Jim shook his head. "No, Perez, that'll take too long. I'll go." He held out his hand. "Give me the case and tell me what we're looking for."

Perez sighed and pulled a metal tube out of the inner pocket of his jacket. "It should be the third display case on the left. It's a diagram written on parchment. It's very old, so touch it as little as possible." He held the tube out to Jim. Jim reached out to take it but Perez held on. "See the tattoo on my hand? That symbol will be on the diagram we want."

Jim looked at the tattoo. It looked like an amateur job: a diamond with two chevrons on the outer part of Perez’s hand between his thumb and forefinger. Jim nodded. "Got it."

He checked his watch.

Jim looked into the room. It was much like a museum: display cases, pictures, faux-Greek columns topped with pottery. Jim could see the laser beams clearly, but even so his progress across the room was painfully slow. Again, he had to put aside all thought of Blair and his danger. Just move across the room. He ducked under one beam, and stepped carefully over another. One slow step at a time.

Finally, he reached the third display case. He tucked the tube inside his vest and reached under the glass. He lifted the glass lid a little, holding his breath. No alarm sounded.

From behind him Perez called, "It should be safe to open."

"Like it should have been safe to cross this room?" Jim returned sarcastically. He opened the lid carefully. There were two parchment sheets inside but only one bore the symbol Perez showed him. Jim rolled the sheet up quickly and slipped it into the tube. Then, resisting the need to check the time again, he began to weave his way back across the floor.

***

Blair hammered on the cabin door with his fist. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" Through the tiny round window he could see the guard outside the door, but the man behaved as if he couldn't hear Blair's shouting. Perhaps the cabin was soundproofed. Blair leaned back against the door, rubbing his sore fist.

"Fuck," he muttered. It felt like Jim had been gone for hours. Blair was alone, with absolutely no idea what was happening. Where was Jim? Was he okay?

Trying to get the guard's attention didn't work. Okay. Time for Plan B.

What's Plan B?

Damned if I know.

Blair walked over to the cabin window, gazing out. He could see the deck and railing, ocean and sky. Nothing else. No human within sight. Shit.

Well...if they wouldn't answer the door, maybe someone would come if Blair caused trouble. He looked around the cabin for something he could use, but came up empty. He wanted a club, but there didn't seem to be anything. The furniture was all bolted down. He couldn't break a chair or...oh! He dashed into the bedroom.

Inside the closet was a set of three drawers, made of wood. Blair pulled the first drawer out, tugged hard to pull it off the runner and dumped the contents on the floor. He moved to one side, got a good grip on the drawer and smashed it against the wall with all his strength.

He looked at the result. He had achieved a big dent in the plaster wall, but the drawer in his hands remained stubbornly intact. Blair raised it over his head and brought it down on the floor. The deck was metal under the carpet and did not dent. It took him six tries, but eventually the drawer fell apart under Blair's assault. He examined the pieces, selected what seemed to be the most solid section, and walked determinedly back into the other room, intending to smash the window.

There were three men there, waiting for him.

Blair registered two men with _bodyguard_ written all over them: both were over six feet tall, dressed in military-style combat clothing, armed with guns. But it was the third man who really caught his attention, because Blair was certain he had seen the man before. For a moment he stared, unable to place the man.

Then, though he still couldn't remember where they'd met before, he realised, "You're Sark!"

The man inclined his head in a gesture that seemed frustratingly familiar. "It's good to see you again, Professor."

Damn it, who was this guy? Blair usually had a good memory for faces; dealing with so many students made it a necessity. He _knew_ he'd met this man before, at least spoken with him. But where? When? It didn't matter.

He narrowed his eyes at Sark. "The pleasure's all yours. What the fuck is going on? Where's Jim?"

"Your questions will be answered in time," Sark answered smoothly. "Please put that down and come with me."

Blair realised he was still holding his improvised club. He looked down at the piece of wood in his hand, considering his options quickly. But he didn't seem to have options, not really. If he knew where Jim was, then maybe...

An ominous click made Blair look up. One of the bodyguards (or whatever they were) was aiming a gun at Blair. He was a heavyset man with a crewcut and a recent black eye. It was the kind of face that you don't want to meet in a dark alley.

Blair kept his grip on the club. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on. What am I doing here? Where's Jim?"

Crewcut moved forward but Sark stopped him with a gesture. "In a moment. Professor Sandburg is entitled to feel frustrated."

Sark's calm tone made Blair even more angry. "You bet I am! I've been kidnapped, drugged..." He stopped.

He stopped because Sark met Blair's eyes, and everything changed. Jim told him Sark was a sociopath, but Blair hadn't taken him seriously. He hadn't thought Jim qualified to make a diagnosis like that. Now he saw it for himself and the feeling was ice in his veins. Blair’s confidence drained away...and all Sark had done was look at him.

"There are some things you should understand, Professor," Sark's voice cut into the silence. "First, you are a means to an end, nothing more. Should you cease to be useful, you will die. Secondly, you are going to do _exactly_ what I require of you, when I require it. If your pride demands you suffer first, I will be happy to oblige, but your cooperation and consent are irrelevant."

Blair tightened his grip on the makeshift club.

"Finally," Sark said, "as I see you are considering some foolish or heroic action, understand that we won't kill you until we are ready to do so, but if you make it necessary my associates can reach anyone you love as easily as we found you. Would you like a list of those we've identified?"

The club fell from Blair's hand. "No." He felt sick. Blair had many friends, but there were only a few people he was close to. Naomi. Matt, though they would never again be a couple. Jim. Stephen. David. Sark's threat was vague, causing Blair to imagine all kinds of horrors, but he had no doubt that this man would do as he threatened. "What do you want?" he asked.

Crewcut waved a gun at Blair. "Up against the wall."

Blair obeyed, standing where Crewcut pointed. Crewcut grabbed his wrists roughly and handcuffed Blair’s hands behind him.

"What's going on, man?" Blair demanded.

"Shut up," Crewcut snapped. He covered Blair's head with a black hood.

Blair shut up. What was the point in arguing? Crewcut grasped his upper arm hard enough to bruise and marched Blair from the room. Blair tried to cooperate but it wasn't easy with this guy tugging on him. The deck was hot beneath his bare feet, heated by the sun. Then the ground became cool and they stopped walking.

"Please, just tell me what's happening."

Sark removed the hood from Blair's head and he blinked against the sudden light. As his vision cleared, he found himself looking into Sark's empty eyes.

"I have to tell you that one of the reasons you are here is to secure Ellison's cooperation with our plans."

Blair frowned. He knew that, but... "_One_ of the reasons? What - "

"You see, Ellison was given seven hours to complete a task. Should he fail to return on time..." Sark nodded to his men. Crewcut and another man grabbed Blair's arms.

Blair struggled. "What? What are you doing?"

"I think that will become clear in a moment."

Someone tore the t-shirt from Blair's back.

***

Jim didn't wait for the car to stop: he flung the door open and was running to the waiting boat before Perez hit the brakes.

Thirty six minutes.

The metal tube with the precious parchment was secure beneath Jim's vest; the end of it dug into Jim's ribs painfully. Jim looked back impatiently as he cast off the ropes. Perez was still at the car.

"Perez! Move your ass or I'm leaving without you!" Jim threw the rope into the boat and followed it. He looked at the boat's controls. Everything looked familiar enough, though it was a long time since he'd driven...well anything. He started the engine.

Perez leapt into the boat. "Ellison, I know you're in a hurry, but - "

"Damn right I'm in a hurry. If your screw-up gets my friend hurt..."

Perez started to coil the rope. "Threatening me won't get you anywhere, Ellison. I'm being paid to do a job. I don't know anything about you or your friend, and I don't want to."

Jim started the boat moving; water sprayed the dock behind them.

Perez shouldered Jim out of the way. "Let me have the controls, Ellison. You don't know what you're doing."

Jim backed away, not wanting Perez touching him, but he surrendered the controls willingly. He kept his eyes on Sark's ship, watching it come closer and closer. He looked at his watch. _It's okay, Blair. I'm coming._

And then, when they were almost halfway to the ship, the boat's engine coughed, sputtered and died.

"What the fuck is going on?" Jim demanded.

Perez tapped a dial, then turned to Jim. "Fuel's out."

"Where's your spare?"

Perez gave him a look. "In the car. If you hadn't hurried me..."

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Jim looked at his watch. Twenty three minutes. It would take too long to go back. He stared at Perez in a panic. Even if he swam for it, he would never make it in time.

***

Sark had placed a digital readout in front of Blair, where he couldn't help but watch it. Glowing red figures counting down the seconds and minutes. It was fucking torture.

Blair was scared, now, scared to death. He knew Jim would come for him, but would he make Sark's deadline? _Could_ he, without help?

Blair shivered, the ocean breeze cold on his naked body. He was tied to the bondage frame on all fours. Metal bars held his legs widely apart. A leather collar around his neck forced him to keep his head and shoulders low. It was actually a great position for sex, but not like this. Oh, god, not like this.

His back and shoulders ached from the constricted position. His knees pressed painfully on the floor and he couldn't move even a little to gain relief.

Sark's men talked around him as they tied him down. They commented on his body and touched him. One of them squeezed his balls with a meaty hand and hissed in his ear, "I really hope Ellison's late."

Now Blair watched the countdown reach 00:10:00.

He tried to look behind him, to see Sark. He knew he was there, watching, but he couldn't see. Couldn't move that much. "What good will this do?" Blair asked. He hated the panic in his voice. If Sark wanted him dead, Blair would be scared but he could handle it. If they beat him up, he could deal with it. Somehow, this was different.

"I take no pleasure in this." Sark's voice was calm and even. Somehow, Blair didn't believe him.

"_I_ do."

Blair caught a whiff of body odour as another of the men moved in front of his eyes. "You've got eight minutes, pretty boy. I'll tell you what. If you suck my dick real nice, I'll go easy when I fuck you." He started unbuttoning his pants.

Blair looked up, straining his neck to meet the man’s eyes. "Go and fuck yourself."

Sark said, "Stop playing, Dart. You can have your fun in eight minutes."

***

The timer was almost at zero.

_ Oh, god, Jim, what's happened? Where are you?_

Blair felt hands on his body, a rough touch. He couldn't turn his head to see who it was, but he didn't really need to.

"Not yet," Sark said quietly.

For a hopeful moment, Blair wondered if a reprieve might be possible.

The one Sark called Dart leaned over him again. "You had your chance, boy. I would have made this nice for you."

He was lying. He wanted Blair to hurt. The red numbers before Blair's eyes read 00:00:03.

"Now." Dart said. He gripped Blair's hip with one hand and shoved two fingers into Blair's ass.

Somehow, Blair managed to keep from making any pain sound. He wouldn't give this guy the satisfaction. Even as that defiant thought crossed his mind, Blair knew he wouldn't last. They were going to hurt him. But for his own pride he had to try.

Dart's fingers were inside him, stretching him. Then the weight above him shifted and Blair tried to be ready for the pain he knew would come.

A gunshot echoed through the enclosed space. Glass shattered. Something hot hit Blair's skin. He smelled blood. He felt the warm trickle of blood on the skin of his back. He wanted to be sick.

"Sark!" Jim shouted.

***

The second bullet hit the polished wood beside Sark's head. A splinter flew out, cutting Sark's cheek. He startled, more because of the pain than the shot.

Ellison moved slowly toward them. He held an automatic rifle, the barrel held steady and pointing, Sark noted, directly between his eyes. Ellison was still on the other side of the window. If he was going to come through the glass, he would have to move the rifle, or walk around to the door.

Ellison shifted his aim and fired a third time. The window shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. Ellison, the rifle once again on Sark, simply walked through.

Sark couldn't help but admire him. The man certainly knew how to make an entrance.

Once inside, Ellison kept his distance. It allowed him to keep all of them within sight. He was leaving nothing to chance.

"Let Blair go," Ellison ordered.

Sark nodded to one of his men, who moved toward Sandburg. Ellison's eyes never left Sark. Sark noted the blood spattered across Sandburg's back...not just blood. Ellison's first bullet made a real mess of Dart. Again, he admired Ellison's skill. Either it had been an incredibly lucky shot or Ellison knew exactly where to aim for maximum damage. Sark was betting on the latter.

"Do you have the item?" Sark asked Ellison tensely.

Ellison's eyes were like ice. "Yes," he answered curtly. His gaze moved quickly around the room. The rifle never wavered. "You, in the blue shirt. Strip," Ellison ordered.

Sark looked at Roesch - the man in the blue shirt. He was the closest of them all to Sandburg's size. "Do as he says," Sark said. He looked back at Ellison, who nodded slightly.

Sandburg was on his feet now, awkwardly trying to hide himself.

"Give your clothes to Blair," Ellison instructed. Roesch obeyed without Sark's prompting.

"Chief, are you okay?" Ellison asked, the first words he'd addressed to Sandburg.

The nickname was interesting. Chief. An acknowledgement of dominance, perhaps?

"I think so," Sandburg answered. His voice was steady.

"Get dressed and come to me."

Sandburg pulled the clothing on quickly. The cloth immediately darkened with blood.

Only then did Ellison move closer. "None of this was necessary, Sark. You should have just asked for my help."

Sandburg moved to Ellison's side, not speaking. He looked shell-shocked.

Ellison lowered the rifle. He took the document tube from his vest and tossed it toward Sark. Sark caught it one handed. "Thank you." He didn't examine the contents; that could wait.

"Next time you threaten him, I'll put a bullet in you instead of a splinter," Ellison promised. "Do you understand me?"

Involuntarily, Sark touched his bleeding cheek. "I do," he agreed.

"Good."

Thus far, events had gone more or less as Sark anticipated. But Ellison's next action was utterly unexpected. Ellison released the magazine from the rifle he held, emptied the chamber and held the rifle out to Sark.

Sark took the rifle from Ellison’s hands, somehow keeping the surprise from his expression.

Ellison took a .45 from the holster under his arm, and surrendered that, too. Then he turned toward the door, one arm around Sandburg's shoulders.

"We'll be in our cabin," Ellison said firmly.

Sark watched them leave. This assignment was becoming more and more fascinating.


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as the cabin door closed behind them, the two men looked at each other. For a moment, they stayed there, not touching. Jim took in Blair's pale skin, wide eyes. He could hear Blair's heart beating, faster than it should be. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Jim reached out and drew Blair into his arms. He felt Blair trembling against his body, and knew Blair could feel Jim shaking, too. It had been too close, too close. They clung to each other, not speaking, just breathing, just being together.

Jim held on to Blair as the only anchor he knew. For years, all Jim had known were the walls of his prison. Even here, the cabin was just another prison cell. The seven hours just past took everything he had. Jim managed it...but there was a price. Having to kill that jerk at the end helped, in a way. Killing was familiar ground.

He wouldn't be sharing that piece of insight with Blair.

As Jim began to relax, allowing his senses to return to something like normal, he became aware of the smell. Fresh blood, clinging to Blair's body. Another man's sweat. He realised suddenly that Blair might not be grateful for Jim rescuing him; or rather, the manner of it. Perez's automatic rifle, more powerful than Jim anticipated, had covered Blair's naked body with another man's blood, bone and brains.

Blair mumbled against Jim's chest, "Jim, you're soaking!"

He was right.  Jim's wet clothes clung to him, cold, heavy and unpleasant. "Good thing I remembered how to swim, huh?" He drew back a little so he could look at Blair.

"Swim?" Blair frowned, but he seemed unfocussed. He was in shock, Jim realised.

"I'll tell you later. Let's clean you up, Chief."

Blair nodded, reverting back to silence. He broke away from Jim and walked into the bathroom. He left the bathroom door open while he stripped off his borrowed clothing and left it in an untidy heap. Blair stepped under the shower and turned on the hot water.

While Blair washed, Jim gathered up his bloody clothing. He took a pillowcase from the bed to use as a laundry sack. He stuffed everything in there and left it by the cabin door. Then he went through the closet for fresh clothing. He found underwear, pants and a t-shirt. He saw the broken drawer and the dent in the bedroom wall. He could figure out some of what happened, but not why. It wasn't important just now. He laid the clothing out on the bed for Blair. Jim was still wearing his own, wet clothing. He did not change, just walked into the other room to wait for Blair.

Blair took his time in the shower. Jim waited patiently, monitoring Blair just in case. He heard the flow of water stop, heard Blair moving around the small bathroom, heard him emerge and get dressed. When Blair finally came into the room, he looked much better.

Blair met Jim's eyes. "I guess we have to talk."

Jim was still standing; he hadn't wanted to get the furniture wet. He spread his hands. "I guess so."

Blair sat down on the arm of the couch. "I don't know where to start."

"Take your time, Chief. It's been a long day."

"Why did you bring us back here? Why give up your weapons? Shouldn't we have tried to escape?"

He went straight to the practical issues, Jim noted with relief. He answered only the last question: "I didn't know what condition you were in, Blair, and it's a long swim to shore. We'd never have made it."

"But you gave up your only advantage!"

"A gun isn't an advantage, Chief, it just feels like one. I gave up the weapons because if I hadn't, Sark would have needed to take them back. I don't know _how_ he'd take them back, so I couldn't risk it. Giving up the guns shows him I'm still willing to trust him and I _hope_ that today demonstrated that threatening me, or us, won't get him what he wants."

Blair was frowning. "But you did give him what he wanted...didn't you?"

"I gave him what he _asked for_. What he _wanted_ was control." Jim turned toward the bedroom, beckoning Blair to follow him.

"Jim, what - " Blair began.

Jim stopped him with a finger on Blair's lips. Then he covered his ears with both hands. Then his mouth, then his eyes, hoping Blair would get the message. Jim suspected it before, but Sark's white noise generator confirmed that he had some sort of monitoring equipment in the cabin: there was no other way Sark could have known Jim had been listening to him. Jim was betting on the whole nine yards: microphones, cameras, probably night-vision, too. The thought of being under surveillance didn't bother Jim; he was used to cameras watching his every move. But he needed to tell Blair some things that were private.

He turned his back on Blair and began to unbutton the utility vest. "Help me get this off, would you?"

Blair lifted his hands to Jim's shoulders to help with the vest. "Jim, what happened, man? Can you tell me?" His voice was much quieter, showing that he understood Jim's warning.

"I took a swim in the ocean," Jim said, intentionally misunderstanding Blair's question.

Blair got the message. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes, then." They were beside the closet now, and Jim shrugged the vest off his shoulders.

Blair pulled it down his arms. "So are you going to tell me what you've been up to later or leave me to die of frust - " He broke off. "Jim?"

Jim felt Blair's hand at the small of his back, hovering over the concealed .32. Beneath the vest, no one could have seen it. Aloud, Jim said, "Sark called it a test. He sent me with another man to steal something." He took out the gun and turned to face Blair. He showed him that the gun was loaded, and where the safety was. He pressed the gun into Blair's hand. Again for the benefit of the bugs, he said, "As tests go, it was easy. I would have been back in plenty of time but we had a fuel problem with the boat."

"So you swam," Blair said, looking up at him uncertainly.

Jim leaned close to Blair. He spoke quietly into Blair's ear. "The gun is for you, in case we get separated again."

Blair shook his head, but he placed the gun carefully in the closet. "Come on, Jim. Let's get you dry."

***

While Jim changed, Blair made an effort to calm himself down.

He sat down in the middle of the floor and took several deep breaths, consciously relaxing his body. Breathe deep. Relax.

_ Hands tearing the clothes from his body..._

_ The ache in his back and his knees from being forced into that unnatural position..._

_ Hot blood and something else splattered across his bare back..._

Blair knew he was in some kind of shock. He knew, too, that he couldn't afford that. He could fall apart when all of this was over, one way or another. Until then he had to stay together.

He closed his eyes and tried again. Deep breath. He thought about Jim. Jim, holding him protectively. Jim with a gun in his hands.

It was too much.

Blair wanted to scream, or smash something. He stood, looking around for something he could break.

And Jim was there, suddenly, holding him close, his lips at Blair's ear. "I know how you feel." Blair expected a kiss or a touch, but Jim simply held him tight, silently telling Blair he wasn't alone.

Finally, Blair drew back. There was no more putting it off. "Jim, can we talk about what happened?"

Jim nodded, sitting down in one of the chairs.

Blair took the couch.

Jim began, "I told you Sark wanted..."

Blair interrupted. "No, Jim. I meant...you killed a man today."

Jim's expression became closed. "Yeah, I did."

Blair tried to get Jim to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't do it.

Blair was going to have to do the talking. "I know that you saved me, man, and believe me, I'm grateful." Grateful was an understatement. Blair knew what would have happened to him if Jim didn't show up when he did... But that wasn't important just now. "I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't make you talk about this, Jim."

"I didn't have much choice."

"That's not true. There are always choices, man." Blair moved to the arm of the couch, closer to Jim. "Listen, I'm not going to judge the choices you made, but don't deny the choice was there, even if it wasn't a good one. That's what got you into trouble before, man. You convincing yourself of stuff like that."

Jim nodded, and now he did meet Blair's eyes. "I decided _ you_ were my priority. Every choice I made was about that." He was beginning to get angry. "You want to know why I did it, Chief? I'll fucking tell you why! "

***

#### 1998

_ Prison wasn't so bad. _

_ Jim could have avoided this. The knowledge that he chose prison, that he'd done this to himself, was cold comfort, but better than the alternative. He'd had some trouble with other inmates, but Jim expected that. It would be unheard of for a cop in prison to have a smooth ride of it. Jim could take care of himself. He rubbed his bruised shoulder, thinking with some satisfaction that the other guy had it worse._

_ He was on his knees, scrubbing the floor of the cell block showers. There were supposed to be others on the same work detail, but, naturally, Jim was working alone. He could live with it. He'd better get used to it; he was expecting a life sentence when he went back into court next month._

_ The last time Jim did this sort of work, other than keeping the loft clean, was back in his army days, but he fell easily back into the habit and rhythm of it. The scrubbing brush in his hands scratched across the tiles. The sound filled his ears, louder than it should have been. Scratch, scratch, like fingernails on a chalk board. It was his whole awareness. _

_ Jim didn't hear the men enter. He had no idea anyone was there until someone kicked the bucket away from his side. It skittered across the floor, dirty, bleach-laced water pouring everywhere. Jim reacted, then, beginning to move, but he was too slow, too slow and a man's arm hooked around his neck, squeezing tight. Jim kicked out but his attacker was ready for him, this time. The movement threw Jim off-balance. With even a second more warning, Jim might have broken free. But he'd wasted that precious second. His vision greyed out as he tried to draw breath past the arm choking him. He fought to stay conscious but it was a losing battle. _

_ Ice cold water poured over Jim's face in a steady stream. He came back to himself spluttering, shaking his head, gasping for breath through the falling water. He was lying on his back on the cold tiles, underneath the shower. Wet cloth clung uncomfortably to his arms and chest and that was when he realised, with mounting terror, that his arms were bound across his chest and the lower half of his body was naked and exposed. _

_ He managed to twist out from under the flow of water and look around him. At once, he wished he hadn't. He saw the faces of the men gathered around him; faces he had come to loathe._

_ The rest was a blur of pain and blood. Hands holding him down, forcing his legs apart. Laughter and taunts. A voice chanting, "Gonna make the pig squeal!" over and over. The pain of someone's fingers shoved into his anus followed by the worse pain, worse than anything Jim imagined. More laughter. Water pouring over his face, drowning him. The taste of blood and semen in his mouth._

_ Five men raped Jim in the shower that day. When it was over, Jim lay bleeding on the tiles, curled up, holding his bruised and broken ribs. Every part of his body hurt. He couldn't move, couldn't even think. A man stood over him, one foot on each side of Jim's neck. Jim forced his eyes open, gazing up and a stream of hot liquid hit him in the face. Hot, acrid, foul-smelling piss, burning his skin and eyes. There was more laughter as Jim coughed and spluttered, trying to escape the stream. _

_ Then came another voice. Words, Jim couldn't remember but the tone was commanding. Jim couldn't move. He lay there, curled up around his pain, hearing his tormentors leave. Black boots moved into his field of vision. A prison guard, then._

***

Jim laughed bitterly. "I remember thinking, _it's alright now, he'll help me_. God, what a stupid idiot I was!" He met Blair's eyes as he spoke, but the younger man's blue eyes were wide with shock. Jim saw the questions crowding within his gaze but Blair wasn’t going to ask any of them.

So Jim answered anyway. "He ordered me to get up, but I couldn't move. I just couldn't. He untied me. I thought he was helping me, but..." Again he fell silent.

Again, Blair didn't ask.

"He made me finish cleaning the shower. Wouldn't even let me dress until I'd cleaned away all of the evidence. When I was done, he called for help. I spent the rest of the time until my sentencing in the prison infirmary."

Blair blinked. "Jim," he said, his voice hoarse, breaking the long silence, "I don't know what to say..."

"I don't need your fucking sympathy, Chief!" Jim burst out.

Blair actually flinched, drawing away from Jim.

"Oh, shit, Blair, I'm sorry. But that's not why I told you."

"Why...?"

"Because I want you to know, I _know_ what it's like, kiddo. What Sark threatened to do to you today. I would kill every man on this ship if I had to, to stop that from happening to you."

Blair said, "Oh," very softly, then fell silent. Jim watched him rub at his eyes, chew on the side of his thumb.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

Blair looked up at him, his expression troubled. "Jim, how did you feel when you killed that man?"

Jim sighed, leaning back in his chair so he wouldn't have to look at Blair. "Nothing. I felt nothing." It was true. The man Jim killed wasn't a human to him. He didn't have a name. It was just something he needed to do to keep Blair safe.

"Nothing," Blair repeated. "Jim, you covered me with blood and brains, and you're telling me you felt _nothing_?"

Jim tried to explain. "I'm sorry that happened, Chief. I guess the ammo was..."

"Man, that is _so_ not what I'm talking about! This is what I was afraid of..."

It was Jim's turn to fall silent. This one issue was an uncrossable gulf between them. Sometimes killing _was_ justified. Jim killed in combat, to protect others and the law supported him doing that. _ Thou shalt not kill_ was for priests, not soldiers or cops.

He knew Blair wouldn't understand, but Jim tried. He leaned forward, looking into Blair's eyes. "I didn't get a kick out of it, Chief. I just did what needed doing."

"You never did," Blair interrupted.

"Never did what?"

"Get a kick out of killing."

Oh. "This wasn't like...before. It wasn't a hunt." When Blair didn't answer, Jim moved to his side. He gathered the younger man into his arms. "Really, Blair, I'm okay. No further murderous impulses."

"Don't joke about it, Jim."

"I'm not joking." Jim hugged him close, then drew back to look at him. "I know you're afraid of what I can do. I can't blame you for that, but you've got to trust me, Blair. You've got to."

"I'm trying," Blair said.


	11. Chapter 11

"_It sounds as if Ellison passed the test._"

Sark nodded. "Ellison performed as expected," he reported, then added, "a little too well, in my opinion, but Ramon was impressed. That should tell you something."

"_Good. How long until you reach the rendezvous point for phase four?_"

"About twenty eight hours, if the weather holds." Sark met his employer's eyes through the fuzzy video image. "I think we should reconsider using Ellison for phase four. He's capable, but everything he can do we can replicate with technology. After the test, I think - "

"_Enough, Julian! Rambaldi's instructions are clear; only a sentinel can reach the Eye._"

"Ellison won't willingly help us now. Threatening Sandburg was - "

"_We will not have this conversation again, Julian. Use any means necessary to ensure his cooperation. Any means, do you understand?_"

Sark sighed. "I understand."

"_I'll instruct the team to rendezvous with you in twenty eight hours then. I look forward to your next call._"

Sark disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Damn her! He could have Ellison as a willing ally if she hadn't insisted on doing everything her way. He closed down the computer and reached for the map Ellison obtained for them.

Perhaps there was still a way...

***

Neither of Jim nor Blair really slept that night. They went to bed, eventually. They held each other. They kissed. They didn't make love. It was as if the ordeals of the day drained them both.

Not long after dawn, Jim slipped quietly out of bed. He leaned over to kiss Blair's forehead and tell him to sleep, then headed into the next room to exercise. Jim's morning exercise routine was so much a part of him he didn't even think about it any longer. He'd always been a fitness freak, going to the gym regularly, running most days, but when he was sent to prison he was deprived both of access to a gym and a decent place to run. Jim figured out a way to give himself a full body workout in the confined space of his cell, and he'd stuck to that routine ever since. Oh, there were times during his stay at the asylum when he'd been unable to exercise, when he was stuck in a straitjacket or when the medication fucked up his brain so much he could barely recall his own name, but as long as he could remember, Jim exercised every morning without fail.

He began with some simple stretches to warm up. The familiar routine helped; dispelling the tensions that kept him awake all night. In the next room, he thought Blair was finally sleeping. That helped, too.

Jim was just finishing his push-ups when the cabin door opened. Jim got to his feet, wiping the sweat from his face. He expected the usual breakfast tray. Instead, Sark walked in. He was alone, dressed in his usual immaculate suit. In one hand he carried the metal tube Jim gave him the day before.

"Sark. What do you want now?" Jim demanded. He spoke loudly, hoping to alert Blair.

"I came to talk to both of you," Sark answered.

Jim didn't answer for a moment. He looked at Sark. The man seemed to be unarmed, which, after what he tried to do yesterday was either very brave or seriously overconfident.

Blair appeared in the archway between the two rooms, dressed in his usual sweats. He stared at Sark, making no effort to conceal his hostility. "What do you want?" Blair demanded, repeating Jim's question.

Jim took a step back, allowing Blair to handle this one alone.

"It's time I explained to both of you why you're here," Sark said.

"I think I got that message yesterday," Blair told him.

"No," Sark disagreed. He moved over to the living area and chose a seat. "Yesterday was a test my employer insisted was necessary." Sark began to open the metal tube. "I believe this will be of interest to you, Professor."

Blair looked at Jim, and Jim could see the warring emotions on his face. Fear, anger, frustration, speculation...and more. After Sark's demonstration of ruthlessness, Jim was wary of rebelling here. At the same time, escape had become an imperative: he couldn't bear to leave Blair in this man's hands. But Jim knew that the ship had moved away from the coast during the night. It meant there was nowhere for them to go if he acted now. No...better to wait, and be ready. On the other hand...Jim thought about the gun waiting in the closet. But that was Blair's. Blair's decision.

Jim tried to put everything he was thinking into the brief look he shared with Blair. He gestured vaguely, to tell Blair it was his choice.

Blair moved to the couch, though he was clearly reluctant, and sat down as Sark removed the document from the tube and laid it in front of Blair. There was a second document in the tube - that caught Jim's attention and he moved to the back of the couch so he could see more clearly. The two sheets fitted together to form a single document; at some point it had been carefully cut in two.

Blair looked at the revealed document. "This is what you had Jim steal for you?"

"Half of it, yes," Sark agreed, his voice even, neutral.

Blair shook his head. "You've got to be kidding. What is this, buried treasure? Should we be expecting to run into Harrison Ford and a host of angry Nazis?"

Jim caught the _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ reference but he wasn't sure what Blair meant. The document wasn't a map...or it didn't look like one to him.

Sark answered seriously, "No, Professor, it's something far more important than Hollywood myths. Do you recognise the document?"

Blair answered at once, "Should I?" and those two words told Jim that Blair was lying: he _had_ recognised the document, or he knew something about it. He hoped Sark couldn't read Blair as easily.

Blair added, "I've never seen it before, but I _can_ read. It's a three dimensional map, a building plan." He leaned over the pages, looking closely at the diagram. "It's obviously a fake, Sark."

"What makes you say that?"

"The date. This kind of three dimensional thinking is modern, man. This..." he indicated writing toward the base of the document, "claims the map pre-dates this style of representation by at least three hundred years."

"You are correct, but I assure you this document is absolutely genuine."

Jim interrupted them, "Sark, cut to the chase. What's going on?"

Sark looked up at Jim. "There is an artefact, a device, concealed within this building. You are going to retrieve it for my employer."

"Why me?"

"Because, as Professor Sandburg can confirm, the map says only a person with your unique talent will be able to reach the artefact."

Blair nodded, confirming Sark's statement, but said, "If this is as old as it claims to be, what makes you think the artefact is still there?"

"You don't need to know that," Sark answered firmly.

"That's too bad," Jim said bluntly. He moved around the couch to sit beside Blair. "Sark, the 'need to know' thing is getting old. If you're right about this...map...you need a sentinel to get inside. It's obvious I'm the only one you could find."

Sark hesitated, then answered, "Yes, that's true."

Jim let out his breath. That confirmation gave him - and Blair - an advantage for the first time. He smiled coldly, "Then you can't possibly know what information I'm going to need once we get to this place. Maybe you're right and I won't need to know much. But if you want this thing badly enough, you don't want me to fail just because you like to keep your cards close to your chest." Jim leaned forward, toward Sark. "Start talking," he ordered. "Tell us everything."

***

Blair waited for Sark's response. Jim was right; if he was going to do this job, he needed to know as much as possible. He wanted to hear Sark out, but at the same time, Blair wanted Sark gone, and quickly. He knew something about this map. Something he'd read...a long time ago. The memory nagged at him, tormenting. When Sark began to speak, Blair concentrated, hoping something would help him remember.

"I am certain the artefact we want is still in the temple because the location of the temple itself has been lost for a long time. The organisation I work for only recently discovered and verified the location. You know, Professor, how many ancient cities are lost in the South American jungles."

Blair nodded, drawn in despite himself. "Sure. The European invaders wiped out many of the native tribes. Whole civilisations vanished and the jungle reclaimed their cities. Archaeologist don't even know how many were lost, let alone where to look for them."

"Then you understand how easily a remote temple could have gone untouched for centuries."

Blair smiled. "No, not really. Just because western archaeologists haven't a clue doesn't mean the native peoples are equally ignorant."

Blair felt perversely pleased when that stopped Sark for a moment. He could see it was a notion Sark hadn't thought of. As an anthropologist Blair had a lot of respect for the depth of knowledge native peoples possessed. The way so many western scientist simply dismissed it irritated him. But that was an old, professional pet peeve; Blair needed to focus on the present.

Sark covered quickly. "Native tribes don't have satellites in orbit or the very latest imaging equipment."

"They don't need a four hundred year old map, either."

"Blair," Jim said quietly.

Blair took the warning and shut up.

Sark smoothed out the map in front of him. "Our satellites confirmed the presence of four linked chambers beneath the temple. That is what you are looking at in this document." He laid his hand on the document, two fingers tapping gently, indicating a point in the centre of the map. "In the central chamber, an artefact was hidden."

"What artefact?" Jim asked. "What is it?"

"Truthfully, I don't know. I've seen one detailed drawing but drawing leave out a great deal of information."

"What does it look like?" Jim persisted.

"It's a sphere above what looks like a bowl of liquid; we assume water."

Blair shook his head. "You must have some idea what it is or you wouldn't want it so badly. Come on, man. Jim's right: you've got to be straight with us if you want our help with this."

Sark considered that. Finally, he said, "Rambaldi called it the Eye of God."

_ Oh my fucking god._ Blair couldn't entirely hide his reaction. That phrase - Eye of God - was part of a mystery, a legend Blair had puzzled over for a long time."

"That means something to you," Sark observed.

Blair could have kicked himself. "I've read the phrase somewhere, I think," he answered as casually as he could.

"You can do better than that, Professor."

Blair met Sark's grey eyes defiantly. "Why should I? I'm 'a means to an end', remember? You haven't given me much incentive to help you."

Sark smiled his cold smile. "Is there something you want, professor?"

Blair was pissed off with this whole situation. He had no other excuse. He knew Sark was dangerous. He said angrily, "Yeah, I want to make a phone call."

"Certainly. After this task is completed."

"Don't patronise me, Sark!"

Sark met his look calmly. "The Eye of God. What does it mean to you?"

Blair shook his head. "Bite me."

"As you like."

***

When Sark left them, Blair turned to Jim. "He's insane," he said flatly.

Jim nodded. "I knew that."

"No, man, I mean, seriously. This is nuts."

Jim pulled Blair into his arms and held him close. Against Blair's ear he whispered, "You know something, don't you?" Aloud he said, "Crazy or not, Chief, we're not in a good negotiating position here."

Blair leaned his head on Jim's shoulder, so his words would be muffled against Jim's shirt. "Fuck this. Jim, we've got to talk. Somehow without them listening in."

There was only one way to do that, and Jim wasn't certain even that would work. When he was a cop they'd been developing techniques to filter specific sounds out of surveillance tapes; there was a good chance that technology had been perfected. He mentioned none of this to Blair.

"Come with me," Jim said, making his voice low, as if suggesting sex.

Blair met his eyes with a frown, but he allowed Jim to lead him into the bedroom. Jim stripped off his shirt on the way, throwing it on the bed. He started taking off his pants and glanced at Blair. "Chief, get undressed," he urged.

Blair looked confused but obeyed him. Jim could see his reluctance, but couldn't explain. They didn't use the bed. Jim took Blair into the bathroom and closed the door. He set the shower running and flushed the toilet.

Over the noise, Jim said, "They might still pick up what we're saying, so be careful. Talk as quietly as you can; I'll hear you."

Blair looked toward the closed door. "He's crazy, Jim. He's following a freaking myth!"

Jim touched him on the shoulder, gently. "Calm down. We'll figure something out but you've got to explain this to me."

Blair took a deep breath. "Okay." Another deep breath. "Okay... When I started my doctorate, I went looking for references to sentinels in old literature, documents. Almost everything I found was from Africa or America. Only one from Europe panned out: that's why I remember it, man, but it's a story. It's not real."

"Obviously Sark believes it." Jim flushed the toilet again.

"Yeah, that's why he's crazy! This guy, Rambaldi, he lived, like, five hundred years ago. He was supposed to be a prophet. The Catholic Church didn't like that much and he was killed for it. But he had a cult following. Supposedly after his death his followers took his works, all his writings and inventions and hid them in places all over the world. Which is impossible, man! It would mean this cult explored all of South America, and most of the North, even the Arctic, centuries ago."

Jim frowned. "What does this have to do with Sark's map?"

"_I_ came across the Rambaldi legend through my sentinel research. The followers of Rambaldi didn't just hide his stuff, they protected it. One of his inventions is supposedly hidden behind a series of challenges that only a sentinel can pass. Anyone else who tried would die. Sark thinks he's got the location of this thing, and now he's got the map."

"And he's got a sentinel," Jim concluded grimly. "Blair, do you know what this thing is? The Eye of God?"

Blair was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "All I know is Rambaldi claimed that one day technology would reveal the nature of God. Which is pretty crazy all on its own, man." He looked up at Jim. "Are we really gonna have to do this, man?"

"I don't know," Jim answered. As long as Sark believed they were cooperating, they were safe.

"We won't be safe for long," Blair said.

"Sark said this place was lost in the jungle," Jim said thoughtfully. "Chief, think about that for a moment."

Blair did...and his eyes went wide as he caught Jim's meaning. He nodded.

Jim leaned close and said into his ear, "We just have to stay together, Chief. Be ready." He reached past Blair and turned off the shower.

***

Jim sat on the couch, his eyes closed, listening to the activity around the ship. Most of it was uninteresting, routine stuff. Occasionally he heard something useful. He learned that a team - presumably including himself and Blair, though their names were not mentioned - would be leaving by helicopter in the morning. It was good to have some warning.

Sark was going to take them off this damned ship and into the jungle. It would be their best chance to escape. Jim knew he could do it. He took out an entire rebel unit once. He did it in one night, working alone. His first murders, Jim thought, if you wanted to get technical about it. Wiping out the camp wasn't exactly part of his mission. But, damn it, the sons of bitches who shot down his huey and killed his men deserved everything he did. And worse. Many years had passed since that night but Jim still remembered every moment.

***

_ He waited for darkness, hidden high in the trees above the camp. He was armed with a single gun: an automatic rifle salvaged from the crashed helicopter, and as much ammo as he could carry. Hanging from his belt were the few grenades that survived the crash. He had a knife strapped to each thigh and another at his back. With stripes of black, brown and green covering his exposed flesh, Jim blended into the canopy like any other predator, only his fierce blue eyes to show that he was human._

_ As night fell he moved closer to the rebel camp. From his vantage point above he watched them. He saw everything clearly, as if the sun were still shining. He didn't understand how, but he wasn't complaining. Super powers were going to come in handy. _

_ Before long, Jim had all the information he needed. He knew how many were down there and where they were. He knew which ones were sleeping and which were awake. He knew which were drinking or sampling the company cocaine. He knew where the weapons were and which of the men were alert enough to use them. Jim watched the moon above: it was too high and too bright for him to act. He waited and not until the moon set, disappearing below the trees, did he move._

_ The rebel leader, first. Jim found him alone in his hut. He drew a blade, tapped the sleeping man on the shoulder and cut his throat as his eyes flew open. His cry - it could have been a shout of warning or a cry for help - was lost in the gurgle of blood. His eyes opened in shocked recognition before they closed forever. Now the camouflage on Jim's skin was splashed with red. Jim left the hut as silently as he entered._

_ The single guard outside the weapons cache was half asleep. He struggled briefly as Jim drove a knife into his kidneys, his hands slippery with blood and sweat. Struggling made them die quicker. Jim took the guard's handgun, shoving it through his belt as he didn't have a holster, and entered the armoury tent. He found military-grade stock: not only guns but explosives, communication equipment and so on. He used their own C4 to sabotage it all, setting charged throughout the tent, putting a 30 minute delay on the timers._

_ Thirty minutes. It was plenty of time for Jim to move from hut to hut, tent to tent, killing as he went. When the knife became too blood-slicked to be useful he used the handgun instead. That drew attention, of course, but instead of fleeing the fools came toward the sound. They were sitting ducks. _

_ One man, smarter than the others, got the drop on Jim from behind. They rolled in the dirt, pushing and tearing at each other. A burst of gunfire hit the turf very close to Jim's head, sending up wet earth and splinters. Splinters cut into Jim's skin. The man he was fighting barked an order in Spanish and the gunfire stopped. Jim rolled on top of him, getting his knee between the man's legs and then up, viciously. The man screamed and Jim was up and running into the jungle. _

_ Two men pursued him, but they were on his turf now. They were doomed. The first Jim snared with a twisted vine and left him there, dancing upside down. The second was smarter, staying in the shadows. Perhaps if Jim couldn't see so well in the dark, he would have survived it. Jim kept an eye on his prey while he switched to the heavy machine gun and waited. _

_ The explosion back at the rebel camp lit up the jungle. It illuminated Jim and his prey. The man faced him in that flash of light. There was fear in the man's eyes. He said something in Spanish: a question, Jim thought. He fired, a short burst from the machine gun. Blood and meat spattered the undergrowth._

_ Jim walked into the jungle alone. He returned to his tree, roped himself to a branch and settled down to rest until dawn._

***

Blair was watching from the other side of the cabin while Jim did his listening thing. Jim opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath, signalling that he was finished. He looked thoughtful.

"Anything?" Blair asked, moving further into the room.

"I'm not sure." Jim stretched his legs out in front of him. "Chief, what does 'guide' mean?"

Blair didn't really understand the question. He shrugged. "You mean like tour guide? Someone who shows you around, or gives directions, information."

"Sark's test was supposed to prove you were my 'guide'."

"Well, I guess I am...oh!" Blair sat down heavily on the couch as his mind made the connection. He felt breathless suddenly. "Oh," he repeated uneasily. "Oh, man. That explains a lot."

"Explain it to me, then," Jim suggested.

Explain it. Just like that. Man, it would take a whole book! But Blair tried. "Well...the earliest anthropological work on sentinels is a monograph written by Sir Richard Burton. Burton did most of his work in Africa and he learned about sentinels mostly by accident. His real interest was in the marriage customs of the different tribes."

Jim nodded to show he understood, but he said, "Are you getting anywhere near a point, professor?"

"Remember I told you that a sentinel usually has a partner, like for backup?"

"Yeah."

"Burton called the sentinel's partner his 'guide'. It was his translation of a native word; there's really no English equivalent for the concept. But according to Burton, a 'guide' couldn't be just anyone. It was a predestined thing, a mystical bond."

"Really?" Jim looked interested. "You mean when you and I met..."

Blair interrupted to head off that line of thought. "I said _according to Burton_. Jim, none of the work I've done with real pre-civilised tribes - including the Chopec, man - supports that part of Burton's theory. The buddy/backup thing, yes. That makes sense. But this mystical bond? It's nonsense, Jim."

"You're the expert, Chief." Jim sounded less than convinced. "But...this guy Burton, he must have got the idea from somewhere."

Blair nodded. "Burton was a Victorian gentleman. I think the sentinel and guide pair he studied may have been a homosexual couple. In certain tribes, they explain homosexuality as a mystical thing. This predestined bond shit was probably easier for Burton to believe than the simple notion that two men can fall in love." As he said that last, Blair couldn't help looking at Jim.

Jim caught his look and reached for him. "That's not so simple," he said, smiling.

Blair couldn't help responding to Jim's smile. "Not for us," he agreed wryly.

But Jim's mood was still serious. "Blair," he said slowly, "what if Burton was right?"


	12. Chapter 12

Blair looked up at the helicopter. He shook his head, hardly able to believe that Sark, who apparently knew a great deal about Jim's sentinel ability, could be this stupid. "Are you insane?" Blair demanded, though he was uneasily sure that Sark was. "Do you know how much noise a helicopter generates in flight? Jim will never survive it!"

For the first time, ever, Blair saw uncertainty in Sark's face. He really hadn't thought of it. An instant later the uncertainty was gone, and Sark informed Blair coldly that it was his job to make sure Ellison _did_ survive. Blair muttered about doing the impossible but he did go to Jim.

That morning one of Sark's men showed up at their cabin with an armful of clothing and told them they had forty minutes to get ready. The clothing was combat gear: army boots, pants made of jungle cammo, a dark green t-shirt, a belt, a utility vest for Blair. Jim wore the now-dry vest from his earlier "mission". He also insisted Blair wear the stolen gun, concealed in an inner-pants holster at his back, beneath the vest. Exactly as Jim had hidden it.

"This is it, Chief," Jim told him when they were both dressed. "Ready?"

Truthfully, Blair wasn't sure he could ever be ready. "For what?" he asked.

"If we get separated and you see a chance to escape, Chief, take it. If we're together and _I _see a chance, you need to be ready to follow my lead. Okay?"

Blair nodded agreement.

They kissed and were both waiting in the cabin when Sark came for them.

Jim had reached the same conclusion as Blair: if they were going by helicopter the noise was going to _hurt._

Blair tried to reassure him. "Jim, the engine noise and the blades, it's just white noise. Loud white noise. You should be able to just...cut through it. Not hear it."

"How?" Jim asked sceptically.

"Concentrate on something. Some other sound. If you really focus in on something else..."

"I'll have a seizure," Jim objected.

Blair shook his head. What the asylum doctors had called Jim's seizures were nothing of the kind, he was sure. "Jim, if your seizures were caused by you overdoing it with your senses, then they weren't seizures at all. I can bring you out of it, man." He hesitated, looking up at the looming helicopter. "It's not like we have a choice here!"

Jim nodded. "Just concentrate on some sound," he repeated.

***

The helicopter flight was Blair's first look at the outside since he was kidnapped from Cascade. He had a good view through the glass and took in as much as he could. It was impossible for him to be certain, but he thought they were in Peru. He recognised the skyline of Miraflores as the 'copter flew over a city.

The helicopter landed in a jungle clearing. Blair and Jim, Sark and the two armed guards got out, and it took off again. The heat of the jungle was a shock to the system after the near-perfect climate of the open sea. Blair was uncomfortable almost at once, the air felt thick and heavy: hard to breathe.

They were in a camp. Guerrilla fighters? It was hard to tell, but it seemed that way to Blair. The makeshift huts and tents, the armed men in oddly-mismatched clothing - it gave the impression of being a rebel encampment. Sark conferred with one of the men (the leader?), speaking rapidly in Spanish and their group was directed to a truck. The leader summoned others, who appeared with clean silver cases. The cases were out of place and Blair guessed they'd been storing this equipment for Sark. The cases were loaded into the back of the truck, and Blair and Jim were directed to follow. They climbed into the back and sat where they were told to sit. The truck was a troop carrier. They were joined by Sark and his men and three others.

The driver needed three attempts to fire up the engine - not a good sign - but when it started moving it seemed to work well enough. The trail was rough, bouncing them around like a rollercoaster...except on a rollercoaster you get a harness to keep you in the seat. Blair hung on to the bench beneath him for dear life as the truck moved deeper into the jungle. As the foliage became thicker and the trail even bumpier, Blair knew there wouldn't be room for the truck for much longer.

Sure enough, after about an hour the truck stopped. They were directed to get out and one of Sark's men issued everyone, Jim and Blair too, with radio equipment from the cases. It was high-tech stuff. The radio was a miniature thing that fitted comfortably over the ear.

Sark laid out a map on the floor of the truck and spent some time consulting with another man and more high-tech equipment. Then, he led them into the jungle on foot. Blair looked at Jim who signalled a "no": there were too many men with guns to attempt anything.

It was a long walk. When a canister of water was passed around Jim warned Blair to go easy. Blair hadn't needed the advice. "I know what I'm doing in the jungle, man. I've done this more recently than you."

Jim nodded with a quick grin.

***

The temple, when they reached it, was astounding. Blair didn't quite believe until he saw it, but when they finally saw the temple ahead of them he knew. He struggled to control his feelings, to keep his expression neutral because he knew beyond any doubt, what this was. The lost temple of the sentinels. The legends about this place were scant, contradictory and confusing. Both the temple and the stories had been lost for too many centuries and the oral traditions that survived were like a two-hundred-year-long process of Chinese Whispers. It was difficult to put together a coherent picture. Details were missing, other nuances lost in translation, but the core of it, the description of the building itself, was consistent.

Some of the stories suggested the temple was a place of learning; a sort of sentinel university. In others it was a place of pilgrimage. Some traditions held that all sentinels must eventually seek this place; others said only a chosen elite would ever discover it. Some tales told of spiritual enlightenment to be found here; others described a source of great power. A few mentioned a trial, which only a "true" sentinel could survive. That last fit with Sark's belief that the temple housed an artefact which only a sentinel could retrieve. As for the rest...perhaps it was all true. Perhaps none of it was true. Blair didn't know...but he was standing fifty yards away from the place that held all of the answers. It was like seeing the Holy Grail.

Blair looked up at the temple. The apex of the structure was crumbling, heavy vines dragging it down. The carvings in the stone around the entrance were magnificent, but obscured by moss and creepers. Blair made out a carved jaguar, maybe more than one, and a stylised human face.

He glanced at Jim, who was staring at the temple, his expression rapt. "I've dreamed about this place," Jim said quietly, the words meant for Blair alone.

Sark moved up to Jim's side. "You've memorised the map. The artefact we want will be in a chamber beneath the temple."

Blair wanted more time to just stare at this place, but Sark's voice got him reoriented. Priorities, man. He sighed. "Okay. Let's go."

"Not you, Mr Sandburg."

"What? Oh, for god's sake! Listen, man, if you're right about the tests in there, Jim's gonna be stretching his ability to the limit. He's going to need me."

"No," Sark said firmly. "You'll communicate by radio."

Blair shook his head. "Do you know what happens when a sentinel concentrates too hard on one of his senses? He becomes lost in it, oblivious to everything else. In Jim's case it's like a catatonic state, and it's been known to last for _weeks_, man! If he zones in there, it's over."

"Then for your sake, Mr Sandburg, I hope he doesn't," Sark answered calmly. "Rambaldi's instructions are clear: he must go in alone. You will remain here, with me, and help guide him via the comm link."

"It won't work," Blair insisted.

Jim interrupted. "Blair, it's alright. I can do it."

Blair was unconvinced, and hadn't they agreed they shouldn't separate? But he read a message in Jim's eyes and they had no real choice anyway. He nodded reluctantly. "Jim, take it slow in there. Try to tell me everything you see, every detail. I'll help as much as I can."

"I know." And in front of everyone, Jim kissed Blair. It wasn't a quick peck, either, but a deep, loving kiss. As they parted, he whispered, "Trust me."

***

Jim walked toward the temple steps. There was no path; he had to climb over a fallen tree, and clear a way through the vines with a machete. He could not shake the feeling that he had been in this place before. _Maybe in another lifetime,_ he thought, though he had never believed in such things.

The temple smelled alive - green moss and lichen, damp stones and darkness. There was a slight glow of phosphorescence inside. It was probably invisible to normal eyes. From the bottom of the steps, Jim glanced back over his shoulder to Blair and the others. He caught a movement in the jungle behind them and for an instant he looked into the golden eyes of a black jaguar. Jim drew a breath to warn them, and it was gone.

Jim blinked. _No, not now._ He had to hold it together. He could not afford hallucinations today, in this place.

But what if it wasn't an hallucination?

How long had it been? Twenty years, give or take, since he was with the Chopec. There had been a jaguar then: his animal spirit, his guide. The jaguar, invisible to everyone but Jim, had often been around, and Jim accepted its presence as normal. It had been like this: a brief glimpse of eyes in the undergrowth, or a growl warning him of danger. Then, after he returned to Cascade, he stopped seeing it.

Except...that wasn't quite true, was it? He remembered the jaguar being in Cascade. In the alley where Carolyn died. Jim hadn't thought about that for many years, but he remembered how. The jaguar was with him when he hunted Fraiser.

"Jim Ellison. I know you can hear me. You need to hear what I have to say. Scratch your neck if you're listening."

It was an effort not to turn around and search for the voice. The speaker _had_ to be one of Sark's men: there was no one else nearby. But the voice wasn't coming over the radio. Someone was just speaking, quietly. Jim reached up and scratched his neck.

"Good. Jim, my real name is Hal Coakley and I'm a CIA agent under deep cover with this organisation. I have very specific orders relating to Julian Sark and to the Rambaldi artefact he expects you to obtain for him. I have _no_ specific orders pertaining to you or to Professor Sandburg. Look to your right if you understand me."

Jim climbed the next step, turning his head to the right as he did so.

Sark's voice came over the radio, suddenly too-loud. "What are you waiting for, Ellison?"

Jim snapped into the radio, "Are you trying to deafen me? Shut the fuck up and let me do my job. My way." He climbed another step, listening for Coakley's voice.

"This is a one-sided conversation, Jim, so I'll make it brief. You tipped your hand back there on the ship. I know what you want and I know just how far you'll go to get it."

_You don't know a damned thing,_ Jim wanted to answer, but he had to settle for thinking it.

"So, here's the deal. I don't give a shit what happens to the artefact as long as Sark doesn't get his hands on it. You can tell him it's not there. Smash it. Whatever. In return for this very simple service, I guarantee Professor Sandburg's safety. Right now I'm in a better position to do that than you are and Sark trusts me. I can take him out if I need to."

Jim shook his head slightly. He couldn't trust an anonymous voice.

"I'm sure you're wondering whether you can trust me, Jim. I know your record, Captain Ellison and I know that much of your experience with the CIA was, shall we say, less than positive. So ask yourself this: would you rather trust Sark, who I'm sure you know will kill you both as soon as he has his merchandise, or me? I have no particular interest in keeping you alive, Jim, but I don't want you dead. My sole concern is my mission."

Jim was almost at the top of the temple steps. He turned around, looking for the speaker. "You hear me, Chief?" he said into the radio.

Blair's voice came back to him clearly. "I'm right here, Jim."

Coakey's voice came again. "Do we have a deal, Jim?"

Jim said, "Stay safe, Blair."

Coakley said, "Wise decision."

_If anything happens to Blair, you bastard, I'm gonna kill you slowly._ Jim walked into the temple.

From the outside, it must have looked as if he vanished into the darkness, but the faint phosphorescence was all the light Jim needed. He moved forward over a stone floor worn smooth by hundreds, or thousands, of earlier visitors.

"Jim," Blair's voice came over the radio. "Talk to me, man."

"I'm inside," Jim reported. "I'm okay."

"What do you see?"

"There's a long hallway. There's writing on the wall." Jim stopped, tracing the symbols carved into the ancient stone. It was writing, not random symbols. It meant something. Though it was in no language Jim had ever seen or heard, he felt as if he could almost read the symbols. Almost. As if he had known how to read this, once, but had forgotten. If he could just stay here a little longer, maybe it would come back to him...

"Jim, the corridor should open into a chamber." Blair's voice interrupted Jim's thoughts and the meaning of the symbols, so nearly grasped, was gone. But Blair had focussed Jim on what mattered. With an effort he turned away from the wall. He could make out an opening just a few steps ahead. He walked toward it.

The opening was roughly triangular, with the apex about five feet high. Jim had to duck to get through it. A curtain of vines fell down on the other side and he lifted a hand to push them aside. It felt weird...wrong. Vines don't grow in the dark...

He pushed his way through the vines and had to close his eyes against the suddenly dazzling light. The light came from above, from a hole in the roof, and it illuminated the pyramid-shaped chamber. Light fell on two stone-rimmed pools of still water. Soft, golden light played from the water to the sloping stone walls. Jim stared, captured by the play of light and shadow. It was so beautiful, like nothing he'd ever seen or even imagined.

It was Blair's voice, again, that called him back.

Jim, feeling a little unsteady, answered, "It's a big room, open at the roof. There are two pools."

Jim heard the stress in Blair's voice. "Good, Jim. You need to pass through that chamber. On the far side from where you are there should be a stairwell or maybe a trap door. Something that leads down."

"I'll look." Jim walked across the chamber, feeling absurdly like an intruder. He shouldn't be there. His presence was...was wrong somehow. There was no logical reason for the feeling, but it was there. It was real.

The passage was easily found. Jim knelt on the damp stone, running his hands around the edge of the hole. "Blair, it's not a stairway. There might have been a ladder here once, but it's long gone."

Sark's voice came over the radio. "There will be a way in," he asserted, supremely confident.

"Jim," Blair tried, "look inside. How deep does it go?"

Jim started to say it was too deep to see, then he realised it wasn't. The strangely beautiful play of light in the chamber made it difficult to see into the hole, but Jim _could_ see. He just had to concentrate. The shaft was steep, but it wasn't vertical, and there were rough hand-holds hewn into the stone. He took in a nervous breath. "It's a long way down, Chief, but it's not perpendicular. I think I can make it."

He started to uncoil the rope he carried. He looked around for something solid but found nothing conveniently close. He had to drive a piton into the stone and hope that it would hold. He hooked up the rope, threaded it through the link at his belt and tossed the free end into the shaft.

"Okay. I'm going in."

"Be careful, Jim."

Because he knew Sark was listening, Jim answered sarcastically. "Yeah, it would be a shame if I break my neck now, wouldn't it?"

He began to lower himself into the shaft. Into the utter blackness below.


	13. Chapter 13

The nylon rope was rough beneath Jim's hands as he lowered himself into the shaft. He was glad he'd kept up his exercise routine; he would need his strength for this. The shaft seemed to be about an eighty-degree angle and Jim couldn't see the bottom. He moved slowly, carefully, finding footholds and climbing downwards.

After a while, he realised the shaft was slightly concave, not straight, so that when he reached a certain depth he could no longer look upward and see light. Jim's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but even he needed some light in order to see. He realised that anyone else would have seen nothing at all.

That was when he began paying attention to his surroundings. Until then, he'd been concentrating on the climb; the cool, still air, the strain on his muscles as he clung on to the rope. Now he opened his other senses, assessing the environment. There was a very unpleasant taste and smell to the air, something he had not smelled for a very long time. Jim tried to dial his senses back down, but it was too late. The smell, now he recognised it, wouldn't go away.

Jim turned his head toward the radio he wore. "Sark, you hear me?"

"I can hear you," Sark's voice came back to him loud and clear.

"Did you fail to mention something?" Jim demanded. "Like the last sucker you sent into this hole?" He felt for the next foothold cautiously.

There was a short silence, then Sark answered, "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean," Jim answered, "there's a rotting corpse at the bottom of this shaft. From the stink I'd say more than one. A month or two old."

"I have no knowledge of this, Mr Ellison. Is it an obstacle?"

"I don't know yet," Jim admitted. He stopped his descent suddenly. Something was different. He had no idea what it was, but something had alerted him. He remained still, thinking.

"Jim?" Blair's voice sounded worried. "What's happening, man?"

Jim tightened his grip on the rope with his right hand and reached out with his left, running a hand across the wall in front of him. "Chief, does the map say anything about stone?"

"Stone?" Blair repeated, startled.

"Yeah, stone. There's something different here. I think the stone is different."

"Hold on, man. I'll check it out."

_Hold on. Like I can do anything else!_ The rope was taut beneath his hands and Jim looked up. Was it going to hold his weight? He didn't like mountain climbing in the dark and he especially didn't like it without a partner backing him up. Of course, Blair _was_ backing him up... Jim waited, as patiently as he could. He reached out again, feeling the stone in front of him. It was smoother than the rest of the shaft, almost oily. Definitely a different type of stone. Did it mean anything? He focussed his sense of touch on the stone, memorising its texture.

Finally, Blair's voice came again. "I got nothing, Jim. There are symbols and stuff on the map but everything's further in. Sark says there are no coincidences..." Blair's voice gave away his scepticism, "...and maybe you're supposed to figure your own way in."

Jim snorted. "That's helpful." The smell from below him was becoming overpowering; he definitely didn't want to go lower. The different stone had stopped him, and there was something else, something indefinable. Secret treasure maps and tests...what next?

Feeling pretty stupid, Jim pushed hard against the smoother stone.

Nothing happened. Well, what had he expected?

But in pushing the stone, he had pushed himself away from the shaft wall. The movement made Jim look up and, finally, he saw it.

Above him in the darkness, concealed by the curve of the shaft, was an opening just wide enough to admit one person. Jim smiled into the darkness. "Gotcha."

Jim began to climb up toward the opening. His muscles screamed at the strain and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Damn, he was out of shape! He was going to have to let go of his rope to reach the opening. If he slipped...

Jim looped the rope through the link on his belt and knotted it. It wasn't much, but he hoped it would be enough to break his fall. He reached across to the opening. He had to feel his way inside; even to his sight, it was utterly black. He found a deep ridge just inside - a handhold. Even so, he was going to have to swing over, losing his foothold. This really wasn't worth it...but Blair was going to die if he didn't at least make the effort. The thought propelled him across the shaft and for a moment there was only the rope holding his weight...then his hand encountered the other side of the opening. He groped for the handhold, slipped once, and finally got a grip. Jim hung there, breathing hard, for a moment.

"Jim, what's happening?"

Jim almost lost his grip. "Give...me...a moment..." he grated. He hauled himself up into the opening. When he was high enough, he lifted his legs, bracing his feet against one side and his back against the other. He loosened the knotted rope, paying out enough slack to allow him to climb upwards. He reached above his head and found what he'd half-expected to find: a flat slab of that odd, oily stone. He braced himself and pushed. To his surprise it rose easily, like a trapdoor. Jim grabbed on to the edge and pulled himself up.

The trapdoor opened into a small room, barely large enough for Jim to stand in. The walls glowed with that faint phosphorescence, all but one small area. Jim ran his hands over that dark patch, unsurprised to find the same smooth stone. He pushed, hard, and the wall split open like a secret door in a gothic movie.

"Chief, can you still hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Jim."

"I'm in. Tell me what I'm looking for."

***

Blair heard Sark draw in a deep breath and realised Sark had been nervous. He wondered, not for the first time, how scary Sark's employer must be to make him so worried about failure.

Blair studied the ancient map, smoothing the parchment out as best he could on the uneven ground. As he leaned forward, he caught a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. He snapped, "Quit waving that gun in my face!"

Sark gestured to the gunman and he backed off a little.

"Chief? Are you okay?" Jim's voice crackled through the radio.

Sark answered smoothly, before Blair could speak: "He is fine."

"Then I want to hear that from _him_."

Blair took a breath. "I'm okay, Jim. Just...on edge, I guess. Jim, the map shows four chambers, but not which one is the way in. Give me a moment."

"Sure. I'm not going anywhere."

Blair wiped sweat out of his eyes. The jungle air was hot and humid; he wasn't used to it.

"Chief, I came in through a small chamber, size of a small elevator. Is that on your map?"

Blair frowned. "The only small room is the centre. I assumed that was what you're looking for but it could be the entrance."

"Could be?"

Sark touched the map. "Mr Ellison, look for the symbol we discussed yesterday. A square bordered by angled brackets."

"Right," Jim answered.

Then there was silence. Too much silence. Blair knelt on the jungle floor, flanked by men with guns pointed at his back, and listened to the silence.

After a while, he couldn't listen any more. "Jim?" he tried, worried. "Tell me what's happening, man. I can't help you if I don't know."

"I'm looking." Jim's sigh was audible even over the radio. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Chief. I'll do what I said I'd do, but don't rush me. Got that?"

_I'll do what I said I'd do._ Blair remembered their conversation about escaping, about how the jungle was their best chance. He still had the gun concealed in the small of his back. No one had searched him. But he couldn't get to it quickly. _If we get separated and you see a chance to escape, Chief, take it. If we're together and I see a chance, you need to be ready to follow my lead. _He hoped he and Jim were on the same wavelength when he answered, "Got it, Jim."

Jim went on speaking. "There's some sort of fresco on the wall here. It's painted. There's not much light in here, I can't see what...oh, wait... I think I've..."

There was a burst of static and the radio went silent.

"Jim?" Blair called. "Jim!"

There was only silence.

Could Jim have done this deliberately? Was this his way of creating a chance to escape? It was possible...but Blair couldn't tell. Jim could be in trouble in the temple. He didn't know what to do for the best.

Blair raised his voice, projecting the way he did when he lectured. "Jim, if you can still hear me, the radio is dead so I can't hear you. We went over this map together, man. I hope you can remember everything we said. You're on your own, man. Good luck."

"Will he hear you?" Sark asked.

Blair nodded. "If he's listening. At the asylum he could hear me when I arrived at the gates. I used to chat with the guard and Jim would tell me what we'd talked about." He looked up into Sark's cold grey eyes. "Jim can do this, man, but we've got to give him time."

***

They waited.

They waited for hours. Sark appeared infinitely patient. Blair couldn't share his serenity.

Nearly three hours after the radio died, Sark sent two of his men into the temple. They radioed back, saying there was no sign of Ellison. Sark told them to check again. Blair heard a sullen "Yes, sir," over the radio, and then only silence.

While waiting for Jim, Blair had done his best to memorise the area. He knew the distance between the trees. He knew the paths of the vines. There were fallen branches that might be used as weapons, and there was cover, if he needed it. If he could get to it. But Blair was guarded by two armed men, and by Sark. He could do nothing to free himself. Not without Jim. He needed a diversion.

Blair had considered and rejected several options for creating a diversion himself. The bottom line was he didn't _want_ to leave without Jim.

Jim was Blair's responsibility. He had been since the first day Blair saw him in the asylum: the day Jim agreed to accept Blair's help. Blair couldn't abandon him now...not even to save himself.

"Cressey!" Sark called across the radio link. He waited for a moment and Blair listened to the silence. "Cressey!" Sark repeated. He turned slowly to look at Blair and the coldness in his eyes made fear settle into Blair's stomach like lead. "I think," Sark said, his voice calm, deadly, "Ellison has decided to be foolish."

If Sark gave a signal, Blair didn't see it, but the two men guarding him suddenly grabbed his arms, dragging him to his feet. One shoved a gun into his side painfully. Blair doubled over, the air whooshing out of him.

A voice spoke, close to Blair's ear: "Keep still and keep quiet."

Sark stood, drawing a gun. "Ellison!" he shouted, his voice carrying into the thick air of the jungle. "Show yourself or I _will_ kill him!"

Blair flinched away from the cold barrel of the gun pressing into his cheekbone. He looked up at the temple, into the dark entrance. _Jim, where are you?_

***

Jim had been waiting, patiently, for Sark to make his move. Sooner or later, Sark would divide his forces. When Sark sent two men into the temple to look for him, Jim knew what he had to do. The jungle was _his_ territory. His hunting ground. They could not defeat him here.

The first man passed within inches of Jim in the darkness, and never knew he was there. Jim let him pass. The second he killed, silently, his hand slipping in the sweat clinging to the man's skin as he drew the knife across his throat. He felt the hot gush of blood pour over his hand, heard the man struggle to draw a breath through a severed windpipe, choking on his own blood. That choking breath was the only sound he made. His body sagged into Jim's arms and Jim dragged him into the darkness. He was leaving a trail of blood, but it didn't matter. He lowered the still-bleeding body to the ground, took his gun and wiped the knife.

The other man was even easier. Jim found him bent over the shaft, examining the rope Jim had left there. Jim moved in behind him, silently. He reached down, grabbing the man's radio at the same time he planted a boot in the man's back, and shoved. The man fell with a cry. Jim cut the rope and tossed it in after him. Just in case.

Two down.

He couldn't leave through the temple entrance, but since Sark had given him plenty of time to plan, Jim already had a way out. Every building has a back door.

Outside the temple, Jim took a moment to get himself oriented. He needed to circle around, take out as many of Sark's men as he could before Sark caught on to what he was doing. Every man he killed increased the odds that Blair would live through this. Jim knelt and dug his hands into the soft loam of the jungle floor. He crushed dirt and leaves in his hands and rubbed the resultant mulch over his arms and neck. He drew stripes of dirt down his face. He hooked the dead man's radio over his ear.

Still kneeling, Jim turned his head up, scenting the jungle air. He felt a rush of...of _freedom_.

Jim moved through the jungle like the cat of his dreams, silent and swift. By the time Sark called out his name, Jim was almost on top of them. He was right behind one of the men, but he had a good view of Sark, and Blair. He could see the two men holding Blair, but he couldn't see Sark's hands. Was he armed?

Jim had no time to hesitate or to think it over. He drew the knife and grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck, thrusting the blade into his kidneys. It gave the man just enough time to cry out, which was what Jim intended. He let the man fall at his feet, the blade still in him. The gun was ready in Jim's hand.

"Looking for me?" Jim called.

All four of them turned, as Jim knew they would. The movement showed him the gun in Sark's hand.

Jim fired immediately, aiming for Sark's shoulder so the impact would turn his hand - and the gun - away from Blair. It worked perfectly, and Sark began to fall. In the same instant, Blair wrenched away from the men holding him, ducking to the ground. Jim thought he was getting out of the line of fire but Blair whirled, lifting something from the ground and using it as a club to lay into Sark.

The next moment, the air was full of gunfire.

***

Blair grabbed the fallen branch and swung it upwards. He had no time to be careful about his aim and the weight threw him off-balance but he didn't stop. The wood was rotten and crumbling. Blair drove it into Sark's head. The impact made the wood fall apart.

Blair was on the ground, rolling onto his back, when the bullets started flying.

He saw one of the guards fall, blood spraying from his chest. The other was holding a hell of a big gun - Blair thought it was a machine gun but he wasn't exactly an expert. Then the man began firing and there was no doubt. The noise was overwhelming.

Blair wanted to cover his ears but he resisted the impulse. There were more important things to do. He looked for Jim. Jim was using a vine covered tree for cover and bullets had already torn into the bark.

Blair saw blood on Jim's clothing. Saw him clutch at his side, fresh blood blossoming through his fingers.

"Jim!" Blair could barely hear his own voice for the ringing in his ears.

He reached for the .32 at his back. Blair's hands were shaking so much he almost dropped the damned thing. The guard nearest Blair was still firing. The noise was so overwhelming Blair couldn't tell if anyone else was shooting. So he raised his .32, using a two-handed grip to keep his aim steady. _Don't think about it. Just help Jim._ It was the only thought in Blair's mind. _Save Jim!_

At this close range, Blair couldn't miss. He remembered to take the safety off and aimed at the shooter, going for a head shot because he didn't know if these guys were into Kevlar. The guard didn't seem to notice him.

Blair pulled the trigger.

The gun jumped in his hands and the recoil distracted Blair for an instant. Blood sprayed back toward him and the guard fell. The gunfire stopped, but Blair hardly noticed. He looked around wildly. There were two of Sark's men left, and Sark himself, who was unconscious and perhaps wounded but certainly not dead.

Blair looked for Jim.

Jim peered around the tree trunk, gun at the ready. Oh, god, there was so much blood on him! Jim met Blair's eyes across the jungle.

For an instant, the jungle seemed to disappear. Blair stood at the top of the temple steps, looking down into the clearing below. But the clearing wasn't overgrown, it was clear, the grass worn flat by human feet. Blair was nude. Beside him, Jim stood, naked and proud. He smiled at Blair, a happy, carefree smile that looked strange on Jim's face. Blair heard a voice, then, the words the Chopec shaman taught him so long ago: _A sentinel is a protector. A protector can also be a predator._

Blair blinked and the vision was gone.

A single shot echoed through the trees. Blair saw a look of surprise cross Jim's face. Jim fell to his knees as if his legs had suddenly turned to jelly. With dawning horror, Blair saw blood running down Jim's face.

Blair was up and running before he'd fully realised what he'd seen. "Jim! Jim! Jim!" Blair's ears were still ringing with gunfire but no one was shooting now. Vines and thorns caught at his legs as he ran.

He reached Jim's side and fell to the ground, his own knees weak with terror. There was so much blood, on Jim's shirt, his pants. Worse of all was the blood on his face from the new wound. Jim's eyes were closed. Blair felt desperately for a pulse.

_No, Jim. Don't die on me now. Not after all we've been through. Jim, please. Please don't die. Please don't die. Jim, don't die..._

Maybe it was just his panic, but he couldn't find a pulse. He gathered Jim into his arms, feeling tears sting his eyes. "Don't die on me now, Jim. God, please..."

"Get out of the way, Mr Sandburg."

A shadow fell across them and Blair looked up into the barrel of a gun.


	14. Chapter 14

#### A Week Later

Jim opened his eyes. He saw only a blur of darkness. He blinked a few times and slowly his vision cleared. The room was quite dark, but he saw a wooden roof above his head. He began to focus his other senses and before long he knew he was on land, which was a relief, in a town or village somewhere near the coast, somewhere hot. He was lying in a bed covered by a wool blanket. The wool was rough, scratching his skin.

He had a bitch of a headache and he wondered what happened. His memory was fuzzy: he remembered the ship, and Blair, and gunfire and...and...nothing that explained where he was or why he felt like there was an axe embedded in his skull.

Jim turned his head and saw Blair, slumped against the clay wall. He couldn't tell if Blair was hurt or just sleeping. He tried to say Blair's name, but only a whisper came out. Almost at once, though, he saw Blair stir and raise his head. Their eyes met and Blair did a double-take.

"Jim!" He scrambled across the floor to Jim's side. "You're awake!" He touched Jim's face with a grubby hand. "Your fever's broken. Oh, Jim, thank god..."

Jim tried to raise his hand to touch Blair, but he felt too weak. That, more than Blair's relief told Jim he'd been very sick. He managed a smile, hoping to reassure Blair. "I'm alright," he said hoarsely.

Blair grimaced. "You sound terrible. Would you like some water?"

"Please."

"Don't go anywhere." Blair dashed off. He returned with a cracked china mug filled with water. He held Jim's head while he drank.

The water was sweet, pure; not the chemically-treated stuff Jim was used to. The water revived him and with Blair's help Jim managed to sit up. The blanket fell away and he saw a bandage around his waist. He ran his hand along it. His left side was painful, aching, but it wasn't bad.

"What happened?" Jim asked, relieved when his voice sounded stronger. He reached up to touch Blair's face. Blair had at least a week's worth of beard growth. It suited him.

"You were shot in the head, Jim."

"Huh?"

"It was just a graze, but it knocked you out." Blair touched Jim's forehead lightly, indicating the location of the wound. "It scared the shit out of me, man. There was so much blood... I thought you were dead, man. I thought I'd lost you." The anguish in Blair's eyes tugged at Jim's heart.

"I'm okay," Jim said again.

Blair seemed to pull himself together. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking Jim's hand in his. "One of Sark's men was a CIA agent. He killed the guy who shot you and he helped me treat your head wound."

"Why didn't he take us into custody?"

"He told me he didn't have orders about that. I think, maybe, he knew you, Jim. He called you Captain Ellison."

"I don't remember recognising anyone." But that wasn't quite true, was it? Jim thought, but the memory danced out of his reach.

Blair shrugged. "I dunno, man. I'm just guessing. Anyway, he helped me carry you to the road, then he took off. I had to drag you to the nearest village. Jim..." Blair touched Jim's forehead again, "I thought the head wound was the only one you had. I mean, there was blood all over you, man, but I didn't think it was yours. It took me ages, hours, to reach the village and by then the wound in your side was infected. There was a priest there, a Catholic priest, who knew some medicine, but he didn't have any antibiotics. We both thought you were going to die, Jim. We had to try local remedies, you know, plants and stuff."

"I guess it worked."

"Not as well as a dose of penicillin would have. There was this guy who came through the village with a truck. I talked him into giving us a ride. He was smuggling...stuff...across the border. Cocaine, I think. He agreed to bring us across to Peru, and from there I hitched another ride to bring us here - we're a few miles from Paita in Peru - and...well, the rest can wait. We're safe, Jim, for now."

Jim let his head fall back against the wall, taking all of that in. Blair spoke almost dismissively, but Jim had some idea what he must have been through, dragging an unconscious or at best uncooperative man across two countries. "You saved my life," he said. The words were inadequate.

"I guess I did." Blair smiled and kissed Jim on his lips. "That makes us even, man." He stroked Jim's cheek. "How are you feeling now?"

Jim thought about it. "Weak. My head's full of cotton wool. My side hurts a little. But other than that I'm okay."

"Good. Are you hungry?"

"No...not really."

"Well, you haven't eaten in over a week, so you should be. Do you think you can eat something?"

"I think I can."

Blair smiled encouragingly. "Good. I've got some soup downstairs. I'll get it."

Jim had to lie there while Blair fed him, a spoonful at a time. It was fish soup, quite thick and tasty. After a few mouthfuls, Jim realised he was hungry, and relaxed as Blair fed him. He felt vaguely as if he should resent being fed like a child, but he didn't mind at all; it was sort of comforting to be so close to Blair.

"What happened to Sark?" Jim asked when he'd had enough soup.

"I don't know. Last I saw he was unconscious, but alive. At least, I think so. I wasn't paying attention at the time."

That wasn't what Jim meant. "Did he get what he was after?" he pressed.

"Don't you remember? No, you never gave it to him. I think you left it in the temple."

Jim smiled grimly. "Good." He leaned back, letting his body relax. He was so weak, so tired...

Blair kissed Jim again. "Get some sleep, man. We can talk later."

***

A few days later, Jim was able to walk, a little, with Blair's help. He still felt terribly weak, but he was well enough to notice that he badly needed a shower. Really badly; when Blair offered him clothing Jim felt reluctant to dress until he'd gotten rid of two weeks worth of body odour.

Unfortunately, it seemed a shower wasn't an option. "This isn't the first world, man. You can wash at the water pump if you like. Lye soap, freezing water and no privacy."

Jim wrinkled his nose. "I stink, Chief. So do you, come to that." He rubbed his cheek distastefully. "I suppose a shave is out of the question?"

Blair smiled at him. "Well...I've got a blade, but there's no mirror. If you trust me, I'll shave you."

Jim snorted. "I don't need a mirror, Chief, just a blade and a little soap."

"Okay, man, it's your call. Let's see if you can make it down the stairs." Blair offered his shoulder again and Jim leaned on him, allowing Blair to lead him slowly across the room. The staircase was too narrow for them to go down side-by-side, so Blair went first, letting Jim grip his shoulders for balance as he made his way down the uneven steps. The staircase ended in a kitchen with a table and chairs. Jim smelled fresh food: bread, fruit and fish. The kitchen walls were bare stone, the floor was dirt covered with a grass rug.

"What is this place?" Jim asked.

"Used to be servants' housing for a big estate. Now it's a sort of commune, a self-sufficient farm run by six families. I'm paying rent." Blair left Jim near the wall and opened cupboards until he found a towel, soap and a razor. Jim half-expected to see an old cut-throat razor, so when Blair produced a normal disposable razor he was relieved. "Ready to go outside?" Blair asked.

"Looks bright out there."

"It's nearly noon. You'll be okay, man. Just close your eyes and follow me." Blair moved back to Jim's side.

Jim, trusting Blair, allowed Blair to lead him across the kitchen. Jim wore sandals on his feet and a scrap of cloth tied around his hips for modesty's sake and nothing else except the bandage covering his wound. He felt the change in the temperature of the air as they left the shadows of the house. The air was hot. Jim risked opening his eyes a crack and found the brightness bearable.

He saw several children watching them from the glassless window of another dwelling. It prompted him to examine the place more closely, with all of his senses. The water pump was in the middle of a semi-private courtyard. Sixteen dwellings, all one-up-one-down, surrounded the courtyard and an arched gateway led out to the dirt road beyond. There were still fittings for a wrought-iron gate, but the gate itself was long gone. The central water pump was an old iron hand-pump with drainage channels leading in several directions. Beyond the walls he heard - and smelled - livestock: cows, chickens, perhaps goats.

"Um...you'd better lose the breechclout, and the bandage," Blair suggested.

Being observed by adults wouldn't have bothered Jim; his years in the asylum inured him to that, but knowing children were watching embarrassed him. Self-consciously he undid the cloth around his waist. Blair helped him with the bandage and Jim took time to examine the wound. The flesh was pinkish and swollen, but the wound had healed over and it looked as if the infection was almost gone. Jim had been very lucky, he realised. An infected wound could turn nasty very quickly in the humidity of the jungle.

Following Blair's directions, Jim got underneath the pump. He was braced for cold water, and it was, as promised, very cold. The shock of it was good for him, Jim thought. It was a hell of a way to wake up. Once he was wet, Blair, without being asked, moved in to scrub Jim's back. The soap was harsh and chemical. Jim found it painful, but he wanted to be clean. He enjoyed Blair's hands on his skin, so he concentrated on that. The younger man knew just how much pressure felt good, and he wasn't above teasing a little as his soapy hands slid over Jim's buttocks. Jim sighed, leaning back into his touch - just a little. Blair giggled. Jim loved that sound.

Having achieved the reaction he wanted, Blair handed Jim the soap and Jim washed the rest of his body quickly. Blair manned the pump again to rinse him down, then helped Jim rub down with the rough towel. Jim tied the breechclout back in place. He decided not to shave: all they had was the lye soap and what was harsh on his body would be worse on his face.

"Your turn, Chief."

"Are you strong enough to work the pump, Jim?"

"If I'm not, you might as well bury me now. We won't stay under the radar for long."

Blair met his eyes, looking worried, but didn't respond to that. He just stripped quickly and let Jim return the favour.

***

There was a haphazard pile of blankets in a corner of the kitchen. Jim saw the piled blankets as he sat down at the table. "Have you been sleeping down here, Chief?"

"Since you woke from the fever, yeah. Before that I slept next to the bed." Blair looked a little embarrassed. "I, uh, I guess now you're well - or almost - we can share the bed."

"Come here." It was an order, and Blair obeyed. Jim pulled Blair into his lap, holding him close. "You're amazing," Jim told him and kissed Blair gently on his lips. "And I love you. And I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. But I think we need to talk now, about what's going to happen next."

Blair kissed Jim back, and he wouldn't settle for gentle. His kiss had real heat, and Jim couldn't help responding.

Eventually, Blair broke away to breathe.

"You're avoiding the question," Jim pointed out.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, we need to talk." He slid off Jim's knees and pulled out the other chair. "Jim, just getting you here was a nightmare. But when we got here I needed money for lodgings and medicine. I..." His voice trailed off. Blair's eyes were worried.

Jim reached across the table. "Blair, just tell me."

"I contacted SAHR in Lima: they're a charity I've worked for on most of my visits to South America. I gave Gill a short version of what happened to us. Jim, I didn't use your name, but if Gill checked the news online she knows I'm with you."

"Then the authorities know where to find me," Jim guessed. But if they did, why hadn't he been arrested already?

"Gill told me she would have to call the US embassy but she agreed to wait until I contacted her again. So if she kept her word, they don't know yet. But I _must_ call her soon."

"The State Department will have your name red-flagged. As soon as this Gill calls the embassy, they'll know." Jim frowned, thinking it through. He didn't know what the political situation was like. "Chances are they'll contact the local cops and have us both arrested. We're both in the country illegally; that would be enough."

"Jim, I don't know what to do! For you, I mean."

Jim squeezed Blair's hand, grateful that he cared enough to ask before he acted. "I don't think you have a choice, Chief. I can't spend the rest of my life on the run. I'm supposed to be in prison."

Blair shook his head. "If I thought you'd get a fair hearing, Jim, then maybe I'd be okay with that. But you _won't_! I've seen the news from back home, man. The media are saying you planned the jailbreak. Nine men were killed." He pulled his hand away from Jim's. "Jim, I can testify to everything that happened to us, and I will. But I _can't_ testify you weren't complicit in the deaths on the prison transport, because I wasn't there."

_Oh, hell._ Jim looked into Blair's stricken expression as the implications crashed down on him. "They'll kill me. Fuck. I'll be lucky if I even see a trial."

"That's what I'm scared of, man. I won't turn you in to die, Jim. I won't!"

"What's the alternative? I run? That'll just get me killed a different way."

Blair looked down at the table top. "Maybe not." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to make some tea. Are you thirsty?"

"Don't avoid the issue, Blair."

"I'm not. I just need a drink." Stubbornly, Blair left the table, poured water from a jug into an iron kettle, and set it on the stove to boil.

Jim watched him produce a teapot and add herbs, or something, to it. He stood and walked over to Blair, putting his arms around him from behind. "Whatever it is, you'll have to tell me eventually," he said quietly.

Blair mumbled something.

"Once more?" Jim prompted.

"I think I've been wrong about you," Blair said, speaking more clearly.

"How wrong?"

Blair sighed. "In the jungle, what you did..."

"I killed people, Chief."

"Yes, but...Jim, I saw something that I... Shit, I don't know how to say this."

"Stop fiddling with the tea and just tell me."

"Okay."

Jim stepped back as Blair turned around. He was a little afraid of what he was about to hear.

Blair met his eyes. "What I saw in the jungle wasn't a murderer. I saw a sentinel. You killed to protect me. Jim, I spent far too much time believing David's theories about you. Now, I realise he was missing something. Cut through all the psychological bullshit and what you're left with is you killed to protect your tribe. Your city."

"That doesn't justify it, Chief. Isn't that what you've always said?"

"No, it doesn't make it right. But it means something. Jim, the justice in your heart is the law of the jungle. And I mean that literally. When you were sentinel for the Chopec, killing to protect them wouldn't have been murder, would it? Different society, different rules. And that hunt you told me was such an addiction for you - that was just a normal part of life. Am I wrong?"

"What are you suggesting, Chief?"

"We're in Peru, now, not far from the Andes. What if we could find a native tribe willing to take you in? I've spent time with a lot of the tribes in this region, Jim. They're proud of living in their traditional ways, keeping apart from the modern world. I think they'd welcome a sentinel."

"It's been twenty years or more since I lived like that," Jim objected, but his argument was half-hearted at best. This was a possibility Jim never considered. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it. The time he spent with the Chopec was a long way back in his past, and he remembered it as a difficult time. When he was finally rescued, he was grateful to leave. Even so...

_Jim's hand slipped in the sweat that clung to the man's skin as he drew the knife across his throat. Hot blood poured over his hand. He heard the man struggle to draw a breath through a severed windpipe, choking on his own blood. That choking breath was the only sound he made. His body sagged into Jim's arms..._

"I can't, Chief. I can't. What if I..."

Blair finished the sentence for him, gently. "What if you killed someone again?"

"I _did_ kill people, Chief. What I did to Sark's men...it felt good."

"I know it did, man. You were hunting again. But that's a need you could indulge with a traditional tribe, Jim. Hunting. Not murder: hunting for the tribe. I believe this could work for you, man. I really do."

Jim sighed, then shook his head. "I can't risk it. You could be right, Chief, but what if you're wrong?"

"Just think about it, Jim, _really_ think about it. Because the only alternative you have is to take your chances with US justice...and we both know how that'll turn out."


	15. Chapter 15

The hired car was covered with dirt and dust by the time Simon reached the address he had been given. Once off the main road there was no one to ask for directions - and his Spanish was poor anyway - so he'd taken several wrong turns. He parked the car next to a farm truck and walked into the courtyard. There were children playing near the water pump and he headed toward them, intending to ask where the Americans were staying.

A voice called, "Over here!" and Simon saw Sandburg in a doorway.

It was a relief to see him. Simon observed the professor closely as he came toward him. Sandburg was in one piece and looked healthy and happy. He hadn't shaved in weeks; Simon wondered if that were an attempt to change his appearance.

"Good to see you, Captain Banks," Sandburg said.

"Where's Ellison?"

Blair looked disappointed. "He's inside. Upstairs. I'd like to talk to you before you see him, if that's alright."

"You're stalling," Simon told him. Was this about buying Ellison time to escape? It wouldn't be unexpected; Jim didn't have much to look forward to if he went home. _When_ he went home, Simon corrected. He was here to make sure it happened.

"No, I'm not. No tricks, Jim really is inside. Please, come in."

The house shocked Simon. How could anyone live like this? Sandburg had made an attempt to clean the room but nothing could hide the bare dirt floor or the lichen growing on the walls. He felt reluctant to sit down.

Blair smirked at him. "Don't be such a city-boy. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Really?"

"No modern conveniences, but it's liveable. Millions of people around the world have a lot less, man." He pulled out a chair for Simon and they both sat. "Are you here to arrest us both?"

Simon hesitated. "I'm here to take you both back to US soil. It's up to you how we play that."

Blair nodded as if he expected that answer. His fingers played restlessly with a loose splinter on the tabletop.

"I don't have any authority to arrest _you_, Sandburg. The local authorities can, but as far as I know you've committed no crime in Peru."

Blair smiled bitterly. "If you want their cooperation all you need to do is use the words 'serial killer'. There was a case here in the 1980s: a man called Pedro Lopez. He killed over three hundred people, mostly young girls. It was over thirty years ago but the locals have long memories." He looked up at Simon. "But I guess if you were going to do that we'd be having this chat in jail."

"I have a bad feeling you're going to ask me to let him go," Simon guessed.

"I want you to consider an alternative, yes."

"Sandburg, you know I can't."

"What I _know_ is if Jim is taken back to Cascade, he'll face charges for escaping from prison. He's innocent of that, man, but no one is going to believe that and they'll kill him for it."

"You don't know that," Simon began reasonably.

"I'm not naïve, man. I've seen the news and I know the media is crying out for blood. Jim hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Nothing wrong?"

"I mean this time. Listen, will you just hear me out, man? Whatever's going to happen, it's your decision. We both know that."

_I'm going to regret this..._ "Alright, Sandburg, I'll listen. But I want to see Ellison first."

Sandburg nodded reluctantly. "He's upstairs." He stood and led the way.

***

Ellison was sitting on a bed in the small, windowless room. The bed was the only furniture. A skylight in the roof allowed light in.

Sandburg climbed the stairs ahead of Simon, and Simon reached the room in time to hear Ellison say, "I thought we agreed..."

Sandburg interrupted. "I know, and I'm going to leave you two alone. I just wanted to check your wound first."

"Mother hen," Ellison said, and Simon heard a lot of affection in those two words.

Sandburg knelt in front of Ellison, who raised his shirt and sat patiently as Sandburg peeled back a bandage. "It's still clear of infection. The bandage needs changing, though. How does it feel?"

"I'm okay," Ellison replied.

Sandburg tutted at him. "Damn it, Jim, that stoic act doesn't help."

Ellison's expression softened and for a moment - only a moment - Simon saw the Jim Ellison he first met. Back in 1993, when Jim transferred from vice to Simon's team in major crimes, he was a good cop, a good man. He was about to be married; he was happy. Watching Ellison watch Sandburg, Simon saw that happiness in him again. He hadn't realised how long it had been missing. He hadn't realised he still cared.

"Okay," Ellison admitted, "it still hurts. But it's healing and you fuss too much, Chief. I've had much worse wounds than this. Now get out of here."

As Sandburg stood, he kissed Jim briefly on his lips. It was a casual gesture, one which had the feel of being oft-repeated. It wasn't for show. It shocked the hell out of Simon and he struggled to keep his expression neutral as he stepped back for Sandburg to pass him.

And then Simon was alone with Jim Ellison.

For a moment, both men were silent.

Simon moved a little further into the room. "You and Sandburg are...er...?"

Ellison nodded. "Yeah." He almost smiled. "What's wrong, Simon?"

"I...I'm surprised, that's all. I never pegged you as gay."

Ellison's smile became wider, more genuine. "No, neither did I. Maybe that was the problem all along." He turned his body, lifting his legs up onto the bed and leaning back against the wall. "Have a seat," he offered.

The end of the bed was free, so Simon sat. "What do you mean, that was the problem?"

"I'm not making excuses," Ellison assured him. "There's no defence for what I've done. But living the way I have been...in the asylum, I needed to explain it to myself. _For_ myself. And I think that back in ninety-three, I was fighting damn hard against my own nature, parts of me I was hiding from."

"Meaning your sexuality?"

"Yeah. I _know_ it's no excuse, but I wonder. If I'd been able to acknowledge this, maybe I would have been free to fight the...urges I really should have been fighting. The things that led me to kill." He shrugged. "Or maybe I've just listened to too many shrinks. Doesn't matter."

"Were you listening in to us downstairs?"

Ellison hesitated. "I was, but...Simon, it's not eavesdropping. I _have_ to listen, focus on some sound, or I go crazy. Blair's voice is it for me."

"I wasn't accusing, Jim. It just saves time. What do you think of Sandburg's theory?"

Ellison gazed at the ceiling. "Blair has this idealistic notion that the world is full of good guys and that justice usually prevails. He's focussed on the legalities, and I do agree with him. If people don't believe I was abducted from the prison transport, I _will_ face charges, and they can, and probably will, send me back to death row." Ellison turned to Simon, but his face was in shadow and Simon couldn't read his expression. "Sandburg's missing something important. I don't think the men who kidnapped both of us will risk letting me see a trial. I saw too much. I could give names, descriptions...they know I'm a sentinel, and what that means. No, Simon, they won't let me live that long." He shook his head. "But you're here now, so the debate is redundant. Why did they send _you_, Simon? You're not a fed."

"The CIA swiped jurisdiction because the man who abducted you, Sark, is a known terrorist. I have a friend with the CIA. She helped me...negotiate my way in. So here I am. Let me ask you, Jim, what do _you_ think I should do?"

"That's obvious." Ellison held out his hands, wrists together. "Arrest me and take me back to US soil. You're a cop, Simon. You can't do anything else."

"Sandburg's right. You have changed."

"Not enough, Simon. Not nearly enough."

"I didn't come here for you, Jim. I came to make sure Sandburg gets home in one piece. I owe him."

Ellison leaned forward into the light, looking directly at Simon for the first time. "And you don't owe _me_. No, don't say it, Simon. That's good. You'll take care of him when I can't."

At that, Simon had to smile. "Not the way you apparently do."

"Funny."

"So you have no plans to make a run for it?" Simon said it to force Ellison to say it aloud, but he knew he couldn't trust his answer.

Ellison shook his head. "I have nowhere to go," he said.

"This from the man who toughed it out in the jungle for over a year."

"I could probably do it again." Ellison met Simon's gaze, his eyes serious. "But that wouldn't be paying my debt to society, would it?"

"I didn't think you cared about that."

"Why do you think I confessed in the first place? Simon, I don't _want_ to go back to prison. After everything that's happened I don't want to trust American justice. But what I want doesn't matter."

"You believe you'll die if you return to Cascade, and you're still willing to come back with me. I don't buy it, Jim."

"I killed six men in the jungle." Ellison said it bluntly, with no qualifier, no attempt to explain.

Simon returned his look steadily.

"I told myself I didn't have a choice, that they would have killed us. I believe that, and I'd do it again to keep Blair safe. But how can I trust my judgement, Simon? Back in ninety-eight, I was convinced I was right. The truth is I don't know for sure what's right and wrong and I can't give you my word I'll never kill again. So how can I ask you to trust me?"

"You can't." It was enough for Simon. He never expected to reach a different conclusion, but he was happier to have Ellison's co-operation...even as part of him wondered if this was some kind of manipulation.

***

Simon found Sandburg waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase.

"What are you going to do?" Sandburg asked him.

"I'm going to arrange transport to Lima for the three of us and from there back to the US."

"Then I need to talk to you. Someplace else."

Simon thought he should refuse, but he had promised to listen to what Sandburg had to say. He gestured toward the door and followed Sandburg. "How far do you want to walk?" Simon asked as they crossed the courtyard.

Sandburg only shrugged.

Simon stopped at his car and retrieved a large brown envelope from the passenger seat. He handed it to Blair. "This is for you. From your mom."

"Naomi?" Blair looked startled. He took the envelope from Simon who waited while he examined the contents. Simon already knew what was there. The envelope contained Sandburg's passport, a supply of local currency and three thousand US dollars in travellers' cheques. "Why?" Blair asked.

"Because you're not in trouble, yet. I had a...friend stamp your passport with an entry visa for Peru. You can use it to go home, or anywhere you like. Or you can stick around. Your choice. For now."

"For now?" They started walking down the dirt road.

"When I report that I've found you both, that could change, Sandburg. This thing is a lot bigger than you and Ellison."

"Yeah, I know."

Chickens scurried around their feet as they walked toward the animal enclosure. There was a lot of noise. Would that stop Jim hearing what they said?

"Your mom is quite a character," Simon mentioned.

Blair laughed. "She's that, all right."

"She gave me a copy of your book."

"You read it?"

"Every word."

"Then you know what I'm going to say. Jim shouldn't go back to prison."

"He seems to disagree with that."

Blair leaned on the fence around the enclosure, facing away from Simon. "I know. Jim has been institutionalised for too long. He's afraid of what he might do without restraints or bars." Blair kicked at the pebbles beneath his feet. "I'm scared, too. I'm scared of what prison will do to him. When I first visited him at the asylum...he was in a horrible state, man. I couldn't live with seeing him like that again."

"I sympathise, Sandburg, but Ellison is a convicted criminal."

"And you're a cop. I know. Aren't you also a human being?"

"Would you risk it, Sandburg? Knowing what he's done, what he's capable of, would you take that risk?"

Blair answered without hesitation. "Yes I would. Let me explain..."

***

When Blair and Simon returned to the house, Jim was sitting in the doorway, surrounded by children. He'd dragged out one of the kitchen chairs and positioned it so his head was in the shadows and the rest of him in the warmth of the sun. A little girl, perhaps six years old, sat on his knee. Simon saw the gentleness with which Jim held her there as Jim lifted a wooden toy in his other hand. It was a plane, hand-carved. Jim was speaking in Spanish to the youngsters.

Jim looked up as they approached and he was smiling. He gave the toy plane to one of the boys and lifted the girl down to the ground, saying something apologetically. The children protested, a babble of Spanish voices from all directions. Jim said something firmly, standing up. The children scattered.

Simon wondered about the scene. He didn't remember Jim being especially fond of children. He didn't think any of them were in danger from him, though. Watching Jim for those few moments, it was hard to remember he was a murderer.

Simon glanced at Sandburg, understanding, finally what the young professor had been trying to tell him. But it didn't change his mind.

Sandburg said, "He likes the kids. And they love having a captive audience."

Jim asked, "Are you two done talking about me behind my back?"

Blair made no attempt to deny it. "I think so," he answered. He held up the envelope Simon had given him. "We've solved our money problem."

"Nice."

Simon checked his watch. "I'd better be on my way." He looked at Blair. "Two days, Sandburg," he said firmly.

Blair nodded. "I understand."

Simon turned to Jim, meeting his eyes, saying nothing.

Jim moved out into the sunlight. "I'm not going anywhere, Simon."

"Then I'll see you in two days."

***

Blair moved to Jim's side as they both watched Simon walk away. He felt drained. He didn't really expect Simon to agree with him, but he _had_ hoped. He felt the warmth of Jim's body as Jim slipped an arm around his shoulder. For a moment, Blair leaned in to Jim's touch. He watched the cloud of rising dust from Simon's car.

Two days.

"You didn't have to do that," Jim said.

Blair moved away so he could look at Jim. "I did. Jim, you told Simon you listen in. I needed him to speak freely and he wouldn't do that if he thought you were eavesdropping."

"Two days. I'm guessing that means he didn't buy whatever you were trying to sell him."

Blair shrugged. "Depends how you look at it, man. Maybe this is his way of giving us a head start."

Closing the door behind them, Jim pulled Blair into his arms. "Chief, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to keep you _alive_!" Blair answered exasperatedly. "I don't understand you, man! Why are you just giving up?"

Jim's hands slid down Blair's back to cup his buttocks. "I'm not giving up. I'm trusting Simon to know the right thing to do."

"But - "

Jim silenced him with a kiss, pushing Blair back into the door, holding him close, trapped. Blair groaned into Jim's mouth and reached for him, kissing him back. He ate hungrily at Jim's mouth.

Two days. In two days Simon would return, and Jim would never touch Blair again. He would be a prisoner. The thought added fuel to his passion and he ran hungry hands over Blair's body, over his thighs and buttocks, warm, firm flesh through the rough cotton of Blair's pants. He pulled Blair's shirt out of his pants and his hands found bare skin, Blair's waist and back. The skin was smooth and warm beneath his palms. It was a miracle Blair hadn't been hurt in the jungle... Jim buried his face in Blair's neck, kissing him. He would do anything, _anything_ to keep Blair safe.

Jim lifted the shirt over Blair's head and let it fall to the floor. Blair reached up, pulling his head down and kissing him with a frantic passion that matched Jim's own urgency. Jim ran his fingers through Blair's curls, holding him close as they kissed. But a kiss wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I want you," Jim growled. "I want you right now."

Blair's answer was to kiss him again, his hands moving to Jim's belt, then his zipper. When he slid his hand inside Jim's pants, Jim cried out. Just that touch, warm fingers curling around the length of him, almost pushed him over the edge. He needed to be inside Blair. Now. Oh, god, now.

Jim lifted Blair, who wrapped his legs around Jim's waist. But that wasn't enough; the cloth of Blair's pants still kept them apart. Jim carried Blair over to the table, sat him down on the wood surface and flipped him over.

"You okay with this, Chief?" he remembered to ask, but he wasn't sure he could stop if Blair said no. His fingers worked rapidly at the fastenings of Blair's pants and he heard - and felt - the material tear as he pulled them down.

Blair's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Yes, Jim! God, yes!"

Jim needed no more encouragement. He pushed inside Blair's willing body and it was perfect.

Blair's hands gripped the table-top, white-knuckled. "Yes! Oh, Jim..."

Jim stroked Blair's shoulder, kissing his back as he thrust inside him. He tasted sweat, clean and salty. He groaned Blair's name, reaching beneath their joined bodies to stroke Blair's cock. It took him a moment to find the right rhythm, to match his hand on that hard, hot flesh to the thrust of his own body, and then Blair's gasp let him know he was ready.

And none too soon because Jim couldn't have held back another moment. The orgasm robbed him of thought, even of his senses, of everything except Blair. His Blair.

_His_ Blair.

***

After, they lay on the floor, Jim's body spooned around Blair's. Blair's head rested on Jim's outstretched arm. He stroked Jim's inner wrist lightly with his fingertips. "Jim, you didn't answer my question. Why are you giving up?"

Jim slid his free hand down Blair's stomach, making Blair writhe against him. "You know why. I killed those men."

"The men who were going to kill both of us?"

"Yes, but...don't you see? It doesn't matter why I did it. I can't trust my judgement of right and wrong any more."

"What about mine?" Blair protested. He rolled over to face Jim.

Jim kissed the tip of Blair's nose. "You're not exactly impartial, my love. Simon is. Simon's a good cop. He'll make the right decision."

"Jim, did it cross your mind that maybe giving us two days grace is Simon's way of doing just that?"

"Maybe it is, Chief, but I can't run." He laid two fingers across Blair's lips, stilling his protest. "If I run now, I'll be declaring myself guilty. Guilty of everything: the jailbreak, maybe your abduction, working with terrorists. And you'd be implicated too, accessory after the fact because you didn't contact the authorities a month ago. Blair, it doesn't matter what happens to me, but I want _you_ to be able to go back to living your life."

Blair felt tears sting his eyes and blinked angrily. "You stupid bastard. Do you think I can do that now, if you die?"

Blair wanted Jim to argue, but Jim simply kissed him. "You're stronger than you think, Chief."

"Fuck you, Ellison! This isn't about strength. It's about I love you!" Blair sat up, then got to his feet, reaching for his clothing.

"Blair!"


	16. Chapter 16

#### Two Days Later

Jim's hands were above his head, gripping the frame of the bed as if his life depended on it. Above him, Blair knelt, his knees on either side of Jim's chest. He stroked his cock, slowly, teasing Jim. Jim breathed deeply, savouring the musky scent of Blair's arousal, anticipating the taste. He looked up, up the length of Blair's body, seeking his eyes. Blair's eyes were closed, his head bowed, his mouth slightly open as he sighed his pleasure.

"Oh, god, you're beautiful," Jim breathed.

Blair's eyes opened and he smiled.

"Please," Jim said. "Please."

He felt Blair's weight shift as his lover inched forward. Jim raised his head to take Blair into his mouth. Blair was thick and hot, sliding into him. The angle wasn't quite right; Jim's neck started to ache, but Blair knew what he was doing. He raised up a little further, and suddenly it was perfect. Perfect for both of them; Blair groaned, _oh, god, oh **god**_... over and over and Jim was lost in a kaleidoscope of taste and smell and touch...

It was overwhelming.

Jim reached upward, groping blindly for Blair's flesh. His hands found Blair's arms and gripped hard. Blair slid deeper into his throat and Jim knew he was close. He took in as much as he could, sucking on the hard flesh that filled him. His fingers dug into Blair's arms.

Blair cried out: "Jim...god...Jim..." and liquid heat filled Jim's mouth. Too much, he couldn't hold it all. He had to turn his head, allowing Blair's softening cock to slip from his mouth and he could breathe again.

Blair moved to lie beside him and Jim rolled onto his side to hold Blair. They kissed, and Jim knew Blair must taste himself in Jim's kiss. The thought made him thread his fingers through Blair's hair, preventing him from breaking away from the kiss. He wanted to go on kissing Blair forever, just like this, stay in the moment and never let the world in again.

It was then that Jim heard it. The sound of a car driving up the hill toward the farm. He drew back slowly.

Blair's eyes fluttered open and he smiled contentedly. "That was..."

"Simon's coming," Jim said.

"How long?"

"A few minutes."

"Shit. Jim..."

"Hush. We'd better get dressed."

***

By the time Simon reached their door, they were both dressed and downstairs. There was no need to pack; other than Blair's passport and money they owned only the clothing they wore. Perhaps the scene looked casual; it was anything but.

Blair opened the door when Simon knocked.

Simon looked past him to where Jim waited. "Are you both ready to go?"

Though Blair's back was to him, Jim saw how Simon's words affected him; his shoulders slumped and it was almost as if the energy drained out of him. Surely Blair hadn't really believed Simon would let them go?

Jim answered for Blair. "We're ready."

"I think we should talk about things first," Simon suggested.

Jim didn't think there was anything much to discuss, but he nodded. "Sure. Come in." Blair hadn't moved. Jim reached for him, gently guiding Blair out of Simon's way. At Jim's prompt, Blair sat down at the table. Jim left the other chair for Simon and leaned against the wall just behind Blair.

Simon met Jim's eyes. "Jim, can I assume you'll come willingly?"

"You're welcome to cuff me if you'll feel more comfortable. I've told you where I stand."

"Good. I want to explain to you both where _I_ stand." Simon looked at Blair. "Sandburg, the CIA will debrief you both before any decisions are made about charges. That's the official line. But I've spoken to my contacts off the record and no one believes we can get out of this without Jim or maybe both of you facing a trial. The case is just too public."

Blair nodded, and the unhappiness was coming off him in waves. Jim silently moved closer, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder.

Simon went on, "The problem is that most of the facts in Jim's defence are likely to be suppressed for national security reasons."

Blair's muscles tensed under Jim's hand. "That's not fair!" he burst out.

Jim squeezed his shoulder. No, it wasn't fair, but when was "justice" ever truly fair. Jim knew he was screwed ever since he woke up on Sark's ship.

"No, it's not," Simon agreed, "but that's the reality we're dealing with." He looked up at Jim. "Still willing to face the music?"

"I don't see that I have a choice," Jim answered carefully. "All I want is to see Blair safe."

At that, Blair twisted to look up at Jim. "I'm not gonna let this happen to you, man! They can't stop me testifying..."

"Yes, they can," Simon interrupted. "Sandburg, they can hold you under the Patriot Act just for being _associated_ with Sark. They don't even have to charge you."

Blair looked up at Jim, his eyes pleading. Jim looked back steadily. It was too late to change his mind. Silently, he told Blair it was okay, that he was willing to accept the consequences for both of them. Strip away all the shades of grey and you were still left with Jim Ellison was a serial killer who should have been executed years earlier.

Finally, Blair nodded.

Jim turned to Simon, who looked a little embarrassed to witness their silent communication. "What's the plan, Captain?"

"My car is outside. We've got a helicopter waiting in Paita."

Jim nodded an acknowledgement. "Could you give us just a moment, Simon?"

Simon looked at Blair. "I'll be outside."

As Blair stood, Jim reached for him and held him close. Blair hugged him back fiercely. Neither man spoke.

***

The noise of the helicopter was more than Blair anticipated. He looked at Jim worriedly and saw what he feared: Jim's hands were clapped tightly over his ears and he was staring up at the whirling blades, clearly in pain.

Blair reached up and took Jim's hands in his. Jim resisted but Blair firmly pulled Jim's hands down. Speaking in his normal voice, not shouting, Blair said, "Jim, you can deal with this. You just need to concentrate. It's only white noise. Block it out, man. Listen to my voice."

He saw Jim nod, showing that he understood.

Blair kept talking, more quietly. He couldn't hear his own voice over the roar of the helicopter. "My voice, Jim. Nothing else. Just listen to my voice. You'll be okay."

Jim relaxed beneath Blair's touch.

"Okay, man?"

Jim leaned close, speaking against Blair's ear. "Thanks."

"Alright," Simon interrupted. "On board, Ellison."

Jim obeyed, climbing into the back of the helicopter. Blair started to follow him but Simon grabbed his arm.

"Sandburg, with me," Simon shouted over the noise.

Blair glanced at Jim, just checking that he was still okay, and followed Simon.

The helicopter belonged to a local couple - brothers, Blair thought. Their business consisted of a dusty field containing a hangar and a trailer that served as their office. Simon led Blair into the trailer. There was a desk, a couple of filing cabinets, chairs: it was very basic. A large map of the region dominated one wall. A man sat behind the desk; he stood as they entered.

Simon pointed Blair toward the map. "We're going with your plan, Sandburg. Can you show the pilot where we need to land?"

Blair stared at Simon, hardly able to believe what he'd heard.

"Well, can you?"

"Yes! Simon, are you sure?"

Simon nodded. "If he tried to leave, I wouldn't rest until he was back in jail. But I'm convinced. We'll try it your way."

Blair could have kissed him...but Simon would probably get the wrong idea if he did. He turned to the map.

***

So it was over. Jim watched Blair leave with Simon, which presented him with a dilemma. He was concentrating his hearing on Blair to block out the din from the helicopter. But Simon clearly wanted a private conversation. There was a man in the pilot's seat, checking dials and tinkering with buttons. Jim focussed his attention on him instead, listening to the man's breathing, his heartbeat. He smelled alcohol and hoped this guy wasn't their pilot.

His hearing taken care of, Jim strapped himself into the seat and waited for Blair and Simon. The helicopter field was just outside the town, at altitude, so from the window Jim could see the wide vista of an ocean view. It was a clear day and Jim could see for miles. He watched a boat out on the ocean. It was at least ten miles out but he could pick out the name written on the side. He saw the men casting their net over the side. Normal people living normal lives.

Jim didn't know how long he watched the fishermen in their boat. He came back to himself as Blair climbed into the helicopter beside him. Simon took a seat at the front and, to Jim's unspoken relief, a new pilot switched places with the man he'd been monitoring. Blair touched Jim's arm, asking if he was okay.

Jim nodded back, not trying to shout over the noise. He met Blair's eyes. Blair looked worried, but he'd lost the despairing look he carried on the way here. Whatever Simon said to him must have helped. Jim silently thanked Simon for taking care of Blair.

Should they have tried to escape? It was a question Jim had asked himself over and over in the two days just past. He thought about the kind of life he might have, like the fishermen on that boat, or the people on the farm where they stayed, no luxuries, scraping a living from day to day, but free...and maybe, just maybe, happy. He could live like that. But Blair...Blair wanted to be with him and that would turn them both into targets. One man alone wasn't conspicuous. Two, especially two who happened to be lovers, were noticeable.

No, it was better to do it this way, do the right thing. He was willing to take the risk, with the hope of seeing Blair from time to time, than to face the alternative: a life on the run. As the helicopter took off, Jim decided he made the right choice. Whatever the consequences.

***

Jim looked down, wondering why the pilot was taking them down. Below he saw only thick jungle and a clearing at the top of a hill that their pilot seemed to be aiming for. Why were they landing here?

_ Jim grabbed the strap above his head quickly as the huey rocked dangerously. "Hang on!" he shouted unnecessarily. The stink of fuel leaking from their pierced tank filled the air as the huey plunged down. Jim could do nothing but hang on._

_ Then there was nothing but noise and stink and pain as the helicopter's blades were torn away and glass broke and metal bucked and screeched and men died all around him. The impact tore the strap from his hand and Jim felt himself flying. He met the earth with a bone-crushing impact, and struggled to take a breath. Loam and greenery filled his mouth. He choked, spat and slowly lifted his head to see..._

Jim shook his head, banishing the memory of that long-ago crash. His eyes searched the ground beneath but he saw no sign of danger, no sign of anything human. He listened to the helicopter and found no evidence of a mechanical fault.

He leaned forward to ask Simon what was going on but Blair pulled him back. Jim looked at Blair, who shook his head. Jim was even more confused, but he trusted Blair so he settled back into his seat. A few minutes later they were down and Jim enjoyed blessed relief from the noise of the helicopter blades. It took time to adjust his senses to the sudden silence.

Blair reached across to Jim, and the touch helped. It anchored him, gave him something to hold on to while his hearing settled down.

Simon opened the helicopter door on Blair's side. "Make it fast, Sandburg."

Jim frowned, not understanding.

Blair unstrapped himself quickly. "Jim, we need to get out. Come on."

"What's going on?"

"Hurry!"

_Okay._ Jim opened his seatbelt and followed Blair, jumping down onto the grass. Blair turned back to the helicopter and tugged something out from beneath their seats. It was a large rucksack; to Jim's eyes it looked like military surplus, and it was full. Blair dragged it to the ground, then got a firm grip on the shoulder straps and lifted it.

"What's going on?" Jim asked again.

Blair was hurrying away from the helicopter. Jim followed quickly, overtook him and stood in Blair's way. "Chief." Behind them he saw Simon beside the helicopter. He was watching them, but made no move to interfere.

"We don't have a lot of time, Jim. Do you know where we are?"

"Peru."

Blair produced a map from the front pocket of the rucksack and knelt down, spreading it on the grass. "We're here, Jim. It's as close as the pilot could get us to here." He jabbed at a second point on the map.

It was a location Jim recognised. "That's..."

"Chopec territory."

Jim stared at him. "Chief, you're not..."

"You said it was Simon's decision. Well, this is his decision, man. Now listen. On the map it's about thirty miles. Can you make it?"

Jim swallowed. Thirty miles as the crow flies could be upwards of a hundred on foot, in this sort of territory. The jungle terrain would make it more than a day's journey. He studied the map closely then stood, looking out across the jungle, trying to equate the contours of the map to the terrain he could see. Finally he nodded. "I think so. Yes. But..."

Blair pushed the rucksack at Jim. "Simon bought supplies for five days. Plus everything he could think of that you might need." He met Jim's eyes. "Jim, this is the only way I can think of to keep you alive. Please don't argue. Just take it and go."

Jim lifted the rucksack over his shoulder. He was still trying to take this in. It was too sudden. "Chief...what about you?"

"I'm going with Simon. Jim, I have to! Listen, man, Simon's going to tell the CIA that we landed because the helicopter was having problems and you ran. He'll say we both chased you and you ran off a cliff rather than be recaptured. You'll be dead, Jim. No one will be searching for you. Not the Feds, or Sark's people. But they've got to believe the story, so I have to go to back him up. They've got to be sure you're dead."

"Then come here." Jim dropped the rucksack and pulled Blair into his arms. He wasn't sure about this, not sure at all, but if this was goodbye... He kissed Blair, kissed him as if it was the first time, and the last, kissed him as deeply as he could, exploring every part of his mouth.

It was Blair who finally broke away. "Oh, man, you're making this so hard!"

"Chief. I..." Jim began uncertainly.

"Jim, listen to me, man. I _ have_ to go with Simon. But as soon as things quiet down, as soon as it's safe, Jim, I will come. If you're with the Chopec, I can find you."

"How long?"

"I don't know. Maybe a year." Blair reached up and kissed Jim again, quickly. "I'll find you. I promise I will. But you've got to go now."

Jim looked over his shoulder to where Simon was watching them, then back to Blair. "Chief..." He couldn't let go. "Thank you."

"Don't say goodbye, Jim. I'm gonna see you again. When it's safe."

"You'd better."

They shared a last kiss, and both men heard the helicopter start up again.

Blair said, "Go, man. Good luck."

Blair told him not to say goodbye, so Jim said, "Stay safe, Blair."

Blair smiled through eyes bright with unshed tears and Jim hauled the rucksack onto his back. He met Blair's eyes again and knew he had to leave, he had to walk away, _now_ or he never would. He started to walk.

When Jim reached the edge of the trees, he turned back. The helicopter was taking off. He saw Blair's face at the window, one hand pressed up against the glass. Jim stayed there, statue-still, watching until even his sentinel sight could find no trace of Blair.

Only then did he begin to walk into the jungle alone.

***

#### Twenty-Two Months Later

Jim examined the point of one of the new arrows, wincing when it drew blood from the pad of his thumb. His muttered _ouch_ got him a chuckle from the boy, Moquin, who told him it was good luck. The cut was just a pinprick; nothing to worry about. Jim ran his fingers over the arrow shaft. The wood was smooth and straight. They were good arrows. Satisfied, he gathered up the arrows and stashed them in the quiver at his side. He picked up his bow.

Moquin wanted to come with him and hunt. Jim began to tell him no, and Incacha overheard.

The shaman rose from his place as they passed. "You should not hunt alone, Enqueri," he told Jim.

"Today, I must," Jim answered. He added no explanation. He didn't know how to explain his need for solitude. He thought wryly that so many years in solitary confinement ought to have the opposite effect. But on days like today, when he woke to memories of blue eyes above a bright smile, his loneliness cut so deep that he sought solitude because being around people, even people as welcoming as the Chopec, made it much worse.

He said none of this to Incacha, but as so often seemed to be the case, the shaman understood without his words. "Do not allow your hunt to lead you too far today," Incacha warned.

Jim frowned. "Is there a reason I should stay?"

"I see your need and I fear for you alone, Enqueri. Return early this day."

Jim shook his head. "I go where the hunt takes me."

Incacha accepted that, and Jim walked alone into the jungle.

It had been so long, he no longer believed Blair was coming. He was frustrated because he didn't know _why_. Blair promised he would come in a year. It had been almost two.

He could recall the memory exactly. The helicopter taking off, Blair watching him through its window, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. Blair saved him...and then left him.

Blair might be dead. In his dreams Jim saw the helicopter fall out of the sky long before it reached Lima. Or their plane to the US might have crashed.

Blair might be in prison. Maybe they blamed Blair for Jim's escape and charged him as an accessory. Technically Blair _was_ an accessory after the fact because he hadn't turned Jim in at the first opportunity.

Or, Blair might have changed his mind. He might have found someone new, or decided his career and his comfortable life were more important to him than Jim was. Jim couldn't blame him for that; their relationship almost got Blair killed.

Jim didn't _know_ and it was the not knowing that ate at him, that conjured Blair's face before his eyes and the memory of his touch, his kiss, his voice.

Jim had found his new home, his identity and calling. But he could not be happy while this uncertainty tormented him.

Making his way deeper into the jungle, Jim was aware of everything around him. From the chirping insects to the birds and lizards hunting them. From the wind in the trees above him to the soft crush of the loam beneath his feet.

He spied a deer and readied an arrow. Perhaps he could return early after all. But Jim wasn't the only hunter. The black jaguar moved silently through the undergrowth; Jim saw only the smallest movement of leaves but it was enough. He stayed back and watched the jaguar stalk the deer. For an instant, it looked his way. Jim lowered the bow he held. He would leave this prey to the cat. He moved on.

It was a change in the weather that finally turned him back. The rain was far away, but it was Jim's job to ensure the tribe was prepared. He had killed no large game but a brace of smaller prey justified his hunt. And the long walk had purged the worst of his loneliness; he was ready to be around people again.

The camp was situated at the head of a V-shaped valley - one reason a warning of rain was so important. A normal rainstorm was good, but if the rain got too heavy there was a danger the camp could be washed out. Jim came over the rise hours ahead of the rain. He looked down on the encampment. Through the trees he saw his people and another layer of his loneliness lifted. _His_ people. He had a place where he belonged, where his past didn't matter. He had told them about his past - or told Incacha - when he first reached the tribe. He explained that he'd killed people, that he'd been crazy. They took him in anyway. Later, Incacha told him he should never have left.

Jim disagreed. If he'd stayed with the Chopec the first time, he would never have known Blair.

Suddenly he stopped, reaching instinctively for a weapon. There were _strangers_ in the encampment. Jim stopped his descent and circled around the camp, all of his senses alert.

Visitors to the Chopec were rare, but not unknown and Jim avoided them. His Caucasian features were too conspicuous. Too memorable. He could not take a chance that some stranger would recognise him. So he stayed on the fringe of the camp, out of sight, reaching out with his other senses to find the strangers.

At least one of them was from the city. He could smell it. It was probably some charity worker, but Jim was afraid of cops. He stilled then, hearing a voice. A voice he knew.

Blair!

The recognition drove all thought from his mind. He forgot that Blair might not be alone. He forgot he was supposed to avoid visitors. He started to run toward the voice.

Someone grabbed his arm and Jim reacted, drawing back his clenched fist. He stopped, pulling the punch in time when he recognised Incacha.

"Let me go! It's Blair!"

"Your guide is not alone, Enqueri. Come with me."

Through the woven walls of Incacha's lodge, Jim watched the shaman greet the newcomers. It was only Blair and a local man who evidently led him to the camp. They exchanged pleasantries and Jim listened impatiently. Finally, Incacha invited Blair into the lodge. Blair walked right past Jim without seeing him lurking in the shadows behind the door.

Jim said, "I missed you, Chief."

Blair spun around, dropping his bags and Jim took a step toward him. He opened his arms. Blair ran to him and Jim crushed Blair against him.

"Jim! Oh, Jim!" Blair's voice was muffled against Jim's chest.

Jim took Blair's face between his hands and kissed him. The taste of Blair filled him. He couldn't get enough. Blair's tongue twinned around his. He held Blair tight against him, determined he was never going to let him go again.

Not until Blair tried to draw back did Jim - reluctantly - stop kissing him. Even then, he couldn't let go.

"What took you so long?" Jim tried not to sound accusing. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.

Blair laughed. "That's a story and a half. I'm sorry, Jim. I came as soon as I could."

"I missed you."

"Me too."

"How long..." Jim was afraid to ask, "How long can you stay?"

Blair smiled up at him. "Forever, Jim. If you still want me around."

"If I still..." Jim felt his heart lift, felt himself grinning. "Chief, do you need to ask?"

Blair's kiss was answer enough.

***

Rain was common in the rainforest. It drove the tribe to inactivity under their shelters. Usually during such storms Jim joined his friends in Incacha's lodge. This time, the storm provided the perfect excuse for him to be alone with Blair.

They came together in Jim's shelter like starving men falling on a feast. The first time was hurried, almost frantic. They tore at each other's clothing and, finally naked together, their mouths met with mutual hunger, hands grabbing at flesh. There was a brief battle for dominance, which Jim won, and then they were lost in the thrust of flesh in flesh, in the climax of long, long denied need.

After, they lay entwined atop Jim's blankets. Jim gathered Blair into his arms, spooning his body around the smaller man's, his now-soft cock nestled between Blair's buttocks. Holding him. There was no need for words. He held his lover close, listening to the rainfall and to Blair's heart beating.

It was Blair who finally broke the silence. "I love you, man."

Jim kissed his temple gently. "You said a year. When you didn't come, I thought...I didn't know what to think." He circled Blair's nipple with his fingers.

Blair sighed contentedly. "It took longer than I expected to wind up my life. But our plan worked, Jim. You're officially dead. Only Simon and I know the truth."

"You didn't tell Stephen?"

"It was hard not to, Jim, but it's better this way. He can mourn and move on."

Jim nodded. "Yes, that's better." Still, it hurt a little to know his brother believed he was dead.

"I published a book about you," Blair said.

"You did what?" Jim laughed.

"I'm serious. The one I finished four years ago. Too many people knew I'd written it and our non-disclosure agreement expired when you died. Publishing the book made your death convincing."

Jim smiled. "Make any money off it?" he asked casually.

"Nah. I assigned the royalties to charity. Anyway, after that I let everyone know I was planning an extended trip to Paraguay. I sold my house, resigned from my job. Said my goodbyes. By the time anyone realises I'm missing the trail will be cold, and if anyone tries to find me they'll be looking in the wrong country. They'll assume I'm lost in the jungle."

Jim drew in a breath. "You really did burn all your bridges."

"I had to, man. I told my mom my plans, but that's all. And I didn't tell her why." He turned his head to kiss Jim. "I'm here now, and if the tribe will accept me, I'm staying."

"I think they'll accept you," Jim answered. "You've been expected. We'll talk to the elders soon." He was becoming hard again. He moved his hips a little so Blair would feel it, but he did nothing more. He wanted to take it slow this time.

Blair sighed with pleasure. "Tell me about you."

"Not much to tell, Chief. I've been here."

"Have you been okay? I mean, any episodes, or..."

"Homicidal urges?" Jim supplied. He shifted so he could look down at Blair. "No, nothing like that. When I arrived I tried to tell Incacha and the elders everything. I explained I'd been in prison and why, but when I got to the 'I'm crazy' part I couldn't make them understand."

Blair nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. These people don't have a concept of mental illness. Not the way we do. To them, at worst it's a sickness of the spirit."

"Incacha told me I never should have left. Then he summoned me one night and..." Jim's voice trailed off as he remembered.

"And...?" Blair prompted.

"I can't explain. He took me into a vision, a dream. It's...too private to talk about. But when it was over, I was...healed. I have bad days, but I'm not scared of hurting people any more."

Jim could tell from the look in Blair's eyes that he was dying for more details, but he didn't ask. Blair hugged Jim close. Jim kissed him then slowly slid into Blair's body. Blair groaned with pleasure, his fingers digging into Jim's buttocks. He held Jim tightly, not allowing him to move much. Jim rocked gently inside Blair, and his position must have been perfect because Blair's grip on him tightened. Jim slid his hand between their bodies to stroke Blair's cock, finding him hard and weeping.

Just like that, barely moving, they climaxed together, a long sigh of mutual pleasure and love.

"I love you," Blair breathed into his ear.

"Love you, Chief," Jim murmured. He cuddled close to Blair and closed his eyes, letting the rain and Blair's warmth lull him to sleep.

**~ The End ~**


End file.
